


Midnight Rhapsody

by Multi_shipping_af



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, I Write Tragedies Not Sins, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No Smut, Rated M for the last 2 tags, Sorry guys, a cinderella story au, lamen, mostly lamen and the rest are side pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multi_shipping_af/pseuds/Multi_shipping_af
Summary: At thirteen years old, Laurent lost his brother Auguste, leaving in the care of his terrible uncle Stéphane.Between the mean popular kids in his private school and his wicked uncle, the only escape Laurent has is the Diner Staff, his best friend Jord, and an online friend: Nomad. They bond over their shared dream of going to Princeton, but their relationship never went further than texting and e-mailing. Not until now.(AKA A Cinderella Story AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovelies! I decided to write the Lamen Cinderella Story AU that this fandom deserves so voilà! This fic is entirely inspired by Thecaptiveroyals's Tumblr post so you should definitely go check out their Tumblr.  
> Enjoy! ^-^

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, lived a beautiful little prince with his older brother.

All right, perhaps it wasn’t that long ago. And it wasn’t really a faraway kingdom. It was the San Fernando Valley, and it only looked faraway because you barely see it through the smog. But to Laurent, growing up, the Valley was his kingdom.

He was his brother’s best friend, and Auguste was his. Although their mother had died giving birth to Laurent and their father had followed soon after when he was only eight, Laurent never felt like he was denied family love.

He was raised by Auguste, who absolutely adored him and made sure to provide him with everything he could ever wish for, constantly encouraging him to be true to himself and to stand up for what he believes in.

They had inherited their father’s restaurant and Auguste had done an extraordinary job running it, despite only being twenty years old. It quickly became the most frequented diner in town, and Laurent loved spending time there. Everyone in Vere’s, from the cooks and waiters to the costumers, felt like family.

Laurent had everything he could ever wish for: amazing friends and the best brother in the world. His life was perfect.

Unfortunately, life was no fairy tale…

 

“He took the prince’s hand, and he kissed it. Then he swooped him up onto his horse. And the two handsome princes rode off to his castle where they lived happily ever after,” Auguste finished reading, pausing to give Laurent a squeeze for each of the last three words and making him erupt into a stream of delighted giggles.

“Do fairy tales come true, Gus?”

Auguste smiled at the use of his nickname. Laurent didn’t use it very often, contrary to when he was a toddler and couldn’t pronounce his brother’s long name and had decided to settle for ‘Gus’.

“Well, not exactly. But dreams come true.”

“Do you have a dream?” asked Laurent enthusiastically.

“Yeah. My dream is that you’ll grow up and go to college. And maybe one day you’ll build your own castle. But you’ll invite to come live with you, right?”

Laurent hummed, as if making a hard decision. “Maybe.”

Auguste gasped in mock affront and Laurent giggled again. “Where do princes go to college?”

Auguste hummed thoughtfully. “They go to Princeton.” He looked at Laurent seriously and added, “But you know, Laurent, fairy tales aren’t just about finding handsome princes and princesses. They’re about fulfilling your dreams and standing up for what you believe in. As I always say, never let the fear of striking out-“

“-keep you from playing the game.”

“That’s right,” said Auguste, smiling as wide as Laurent. “Just remember, if you look carefully, this book contains important things that you might need to know later in life.”

Laurent nodded and Auguste squeezed him, kissing his forehead. He rested his head on Laurent’s, and as Laurent moved to curl up against his brother’s chest, he noticed the snowflakes floating inside the snow globe on his nightstand.

He barely had time to point it out before the earth started shaking violently. The whole house seemed to wobble, picture frames falling from the walls and books cascading off shelfs.

Auguste stood up quickly and lifted Laurent off the bed, practically pushing him in front of him as they hurried outside.They were only a few feet away from the front door when a particularly rough tremor sent a large porcelain vase tumbling down from a high shelf and falling directly towards Laurent.

Laurent instinctively bent forward and covered his head with his arms to protect it, although he didn’t believe it would do much to lessen the impact.

Time seemed to slow down as he waited for the vase to land on him, but it never did. He heard a crash, but felt no pain. He didn’t have enough time to hope that maybe he had miscalculated the vase’s direction before he heard the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground.

Laurent opened his eyes, and although deep down he knew what he would see, it did nothing to prevent him from letting out an anguished scream at the sight of Auguste’s still body on the floor, blood pouring out of his head injury and pooling under him, turning his golden hair scarlet red.

Despite the fog clouding his mind and the terror settling in his heart, it didn’t take long for Laurent to understand what had happened. Auguste had placed himself between Laurent and danger, as he always did. Expect this time, it cost him his life.

Kneeling on the ground next to Auguste, tears streamed down Laurent's cheeks as he wept for his brother and begged him to come back. But it was too late.

Laurent’s kingdom crumbled…

He lost his best friend that day. And from then on, the only fairy tales in his life were the ones he read about in books.

Laurent had no living relatives other than an uncle named Stéphane who he had never heard of before. Said uncle came from France and settled in San Fernando Valley, and since Laurent was only thirteen years old at the time, his uncle would own everything that was Auguste’s until Laurent turned eighteen. That included their house, their diner, their money and, to his dismay, Laurent.

 

“Laurent,” whispered Auguste’s gentle voice distantly, “wake up.”

Laurent smiled drowsily, sleep still clinging to him.

“Laurent!” the voice came sharper this time, and Laurent made an annoyed noise at the back of his throat.

“LAURENT!” the speaker all but shouted this time, causing Laurent to sit up abruptly, wide-awake. The voice wasn’t Auguste’s, it was Stéphane’s.

“What?” Laurent answered, looking for the source of his voice.

“It’s seven-thirty. I’ve been waiting for my coffee for half an hour now,” came his uncle’s annoyed response through the open balcony door that Laurent must’ve forgotten to close before falling asleep.

“Then ask the maid to make you some,” Laurent shouted, more out of irritation than to be heard.

“She took the day off. Now be a darling and go make your uncle some coffee.”

Laurent huffed angrily but got up all the same. He had fallen asleep on the desk while studying, and his cheek was red and sore where it had been pressed against his textbook. He hastily changed into his school uniform and walked down to the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

As he walked out to the back garden, steaming coffee cup in hand, he was met with the sight of his uncle basking in the sun, lounging on a chaise-longue, a newspaper in hand. He looked so comfortable and at home, which made Laurent feel ill at ease. His stay here was only temporary after all. It had to be. In a year, Laurent will finally turn eighteen, reclaim his inheritance and permanently sever ties with his loathsome uncle.

He just had to survive one more year.

His uncle must’ve finally noticed him, because he put the newspaper down and looked at him. Laurent clenched his teeth and walked towards him. He set the cup down on the table near him and turned around without even bothering to say good morning. But he was only able to take a few steps towards the house before his uncle’s voiced called him back again.

“Wait a second, will you?”

Laurent turned back around to look at him. Stéphane took a slow sip from his coffee, only speaking after he had set it back down in its saucer, “As I’ve already mentioned, the maid is ill and she couldn’t come today.”

“Yes, what a tragedy. You’ll be all alone for the whole day,” said Laurent sarcastically.

A twisted smile formed on Stephen’s face, making Laurent feel like his stomach was in knots. “Well, that’s just it. I was about to ask you to stay. After all, I have a lot of work to do and I do need someone to look after the house while I’m busy.”

It took all of Laurent’s will power not to shout that this was his house and if anyone should be doing the housework, it was Stéphane.  Instead he said, as calmly as he could, “I can’t. I have an important test today that I can’t miss.”

Stéphane sighed dramatically and said, “Alright, go. You know, I think I’m too easy on you. You never listen to my authority anymore. Whatever should I do about that?” He paused, as if contemplating. Meanwhile Laurent felt the knots in his stomach transform into something more solid that threatened to make its way up his throat.

Finally, his uncle continued, “How about this? You can go to school now, but you’ll have to work a late shift at the diner tonight. It’s only fair, after all, since I heard you skipped work yesterday.”

The knots in Laurent’s stomach loosened and he let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. Making an effort to not let his relief show, he nodded and walked back into the house without another word. He hated working at the diner -it was another reminder of his uncle’s control over him- but he could handle an extra shift.

He had started working there when he was sixteen, when his uncle had finally stopped caring about having him at home and at his disposal whenever it pleased him, telling him he should get a job and start learning to be responsible. Laurent had made great new friendships there to go along with the friends he already had from back when Auguste used to run the place, and he felt the closest to his brother when he was there.

Laurent packed his backpack, grabbed a chocolate chip cookie to eat on his way out, and left.

 

Laurent honked the car horn as he pulled into Jord’s driveway. The sound was very loud, because Laurent’s car was practically ancient, but he was quite attached to it. It had been Auguste’s first –and last- car, given to him as a gift from their father when he turned sixteen. It had been his pride and joy and he never let anyone else drive it. Laurent could remember spending hours in the passenger side of this car, driving aimlessly around town, windows down and music booming as Auguste cracked joke after joke that had Laurent giggling until his stomach hurt. He had once told Laurent that he would teach him how to drive it when he was old enough, as long as he was careful with it.

Jord finally stepped out right as Laurent was about to call him.

“You’re late,” he said by way of greeting as he got into the passenger seat.

“Yeah I stayed up late studying and slept through my alarm.”

Jord fixed him a knowing look, “Is that all there was?” His voice was too serious for Laurent’s liking. Laurent had never told him of his uncle’s abuse, but he knew Jord suspected something was wrong.

They had been friends since middle school and once, Jord had found bruises on Laurent’s wrists. Laurent had tried to assure him that they were an accident, but he knew it didn’t convince him. However, with no proof, Jord couldn’t do anything. He had tried several times to get him to slip up about it, but Laurent was too careful. He appreciated his concern, but sometimes, he wished Jord would leave it alone.

“Yes. Besides, if you hadn’t wrecked your last car, you wouldn’t even need me to give you a ride,” Laurent teased.

Jord snorted. “My last car, and the one before it, and the one before that…”

“You car-terminator!” gasped Laurent as he started the car up.

 

As they passed the school gates, they heard Aimeric’s voice coming through the speakers, “Buenos dias, Fighting Frogs. Here's your daily drought reminder to conserve water. Cut your showers short. Brownie points go out to Mr. Rothman, who hasn't had one in weeks. And remember, today's your last chance to get tickets to the big Halloween homecoming dance. You too can dress up like someone you're not, for a change...”

“Primo parking spot dead ahead,” Jord pointed out.

Laurent spotted it and made for the spot. Just as he was about to turn to pull over, another car came hurtling towards them so fast its wheels screeched. It parked in Laurent’s intended spot, its passengers giggling as they shouted, “You snooze, you lose!”

Laurent sighed and rubbed his temple as Jord said, “Well if it isn’t Jokaste and her ladies in waiting.” He paused to watch her get out of the car, tossing her blond hair behind her. “Jokaste wants me so bad.”

Laurent frowned, dismayed. “You’ve never even talked to her!”

“Oh, I've talked to her, okay? In my mind. And let me tell you, in my mind, she wants me so bad.”

“Believe me, Jord, you can do much better than Jokaste. Even in your mind.”

Jord hummed noncommittally then pointed ahead, “There’s another spot!”

“Got it.”

Laurent made for said spot but again, another car came just in time to take their place.

“Oh, come on!” shouted Laurent in frustration.

He tried to start his car up again but the engine just rumbled for a few seconds before stopping. This was clearly not going to be Laurent’s day.

He punched the steering wheel angrily then looked up with an exasperated sigh, only to find himself looking directly at Damen Akielon.

To say Damen looked like a Greek god would be an understatement. Perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely wrong since he was known to have greek heritage, but it still felt like underplaying his looks.

He was strongly built –which was no surprise since he was the captain of the football team- and his large muscles were made even more prominent by the tightness of his white shirt that clung to his rich brown skin, the two a beautiful contrast. His uniform fit him perfectly, hugging him in all the right places and making him look like a model on his way to a photoshoot.

His Jeep’s headlights flashed as he locked it, its light reflecting on his flawless skin and seeping through his tousled dark chestnut curls that seemed unable to stay tidy.

He finally lifted his head to reveal a face that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover, or in a painting in one of the most prestigious galleries. He had sharp features: angular cheekbones and a knife-like jawline, covered with a thin layer of stubble. But despite the sharpness of his features, he didn’t give off a menacing feeling. Laurent guessed that was probably due to his full lips that were always drawn up in a polite smile, and his big warm brown eyes.

Laurent absolutely hated Damen.

“I swear people like Jokaste and Damen are genetically programmed to find each other,” said Laurent as he watched Jokaste make her way to Damen, calling his name. “Like, how can so much ego be in one relationship?”

“Imagine what they say about you,” said Jord, his voice a bit distant as he stared at Jokaste.

Laurent chuckled. “They don’t even know I exist.”

Just as Laurent finished his sentence, one of Jokaste’s friends –Kyrina, he believed her name was- looked over at him and scrunched up her nose in an exaggerated show of disgust then shouted, “Ew! stalkerazzi at three o’clock.”

Jokaste stopped smiling at Damen seductively and running her hand all over his arm to look over in Laurent’s direction. She laughed and said, her high-pitched voice carrying through the distance without her having to raise it, “This zone is for cool people only. No geeks.”

Laurent shot her a glare as she looked at him with a self-satisfied smile. Another one of their entourage spoke, laughing, “Hey, diner boy, can I get a breakfast burrito to go?”

“And you thought they didn’t even know you existed.”

“Shut up, Jord.”

 

As they crossed the hallway to their classroom, Laurent couldn’t help thinking of the way Damen had looked at Jokaste while she addressed Laurent earlier. His usual smile had disappeared, replaced with a look of mild disdain directed at his girlfriend.

Laurent didn’t know what to make out of it. Did Damen Akielon actually have a heart under all those muscles and fake smiles? Or was he just upset that Jokaste had averted her attention from him? Laurent decided it was probably the latter.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Torveld walking straight towards him -his neck bent forward as he read from the book he was carrying- until they crashed into each other.

“Sorry,” said Torveld before he looked up and saw who he had bumped into. “Oh hello, Laurent. You look absolutely stunning today, as per usual.”

“Thank you, Terry,” Laurent answered, smiling a little for Torveld’s benefit.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Torveld waved his book in front of his face and said, “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my book.”

As he walked away, Jord leaned closer to Laurent and whispered, “Poor guy.”

“At least he’s happy,” said Laurent, watching Torveld walk into wall, bounce back from it and head in the opposite direction, all without looking up from his book.

“Happy? The guy lives in another world.”

“Sometimes fantasy is better than reality, Jord.”

“You know he’s crushing on you so hard, right?” said Jord, smiling mischievously.

“No he’s not,” said Laurent, although he knew it was true.

“He totally is, man.”

Laurent was spared answering that by his phone buzzing, indicating that he had received a text. He smiled when he saw who it was from.

Jord caught his smile and said, “Speaking of fantasy…”

Laurent looked up at Jord to see him smiling at him fondly, and he couldn’t help his own smile widening.

“I’ll see you later,” said Laurent as he patted Jord’s arm and went to find a secluded place to sit in.

He heard Jord’s amused reply as he walked through the door to the courtyard, “Yes, the secret admirer beckons.”

 

_Nomad609: Where have you been? We haven’t talked in ages._

_Princetonboy818: We talked last night._

_Nomad609: Yeah that’s what I said. Ages._

Laurent chuckled.

_Nomad609: I can’t stop thinking about you... What’s on your mind right now?_

_Princetonboy818: Hmm. You first._

_Nomad609: Well, I'm thinking that Professor Rothman has dissected one too many frogs._

Laughter bubbled up in Laurent’s throat as he looked up to find Professor Rothman spitting out his sandwich as if he had found a bug in it.

Laurent looked around at all the teenagers with their phones out and couldn’t help but wonder if his correspondent was one of them. His eyes fell on a number of different people; a guy dancing unselfconsciously to the music coming from his headphones that only he could hear. Another, sitting on the grass under a tree, a book propped up on one knee as he checked his phone…

_Nomad609: Ribet ribet_

_Princetonboy818: Lol_

_Nomad609: God I wanna hear your laugh. When can we finally meet?_

The bell signifying the beginning of first period rang, and Laurent typed one word before heading to class.

_Princetonboy818: Soon!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos and comments, they do wonders in regards to motivation <3


	2. Chapter 2

_Nomad609: How was your day so far?_

_Princetonboy818: Ugh! Insolent uncle, an extra shift at work, and spoiled kids who can’t get over themselves… Ever feel like you don’t belong?_

_Nomad609: Absolutely. I can be surrounded by a sea of people and still feel all alone… Then I think of you._

_Princetonboy818: Hey Nomad, do you think we’ve ever met?_

_Nomad609: I don't know. Our school has over twenty-five hundred kids._

_Princetonboy818: Well, that narrows it down._

_Nomad609: At least I can eliminate the girls. Though it would help a lot if you gave me a clue what you look like._

_Princetonboy818: But the guessing game is the fun part._

Laurent put his phone down on the counter as he tied his red apron around his waist. He hated the ridiculous uniforms his uncle had the employees wear. Actually, he hated everything his uncle had done with the place. Back when it was run by Auguste, Vere’s was a cozy diner with employees and customers all like family. It was a place you went to make friends and have the best laughs of your life. The atmosphere had been familial and comfortable, and Laurent used to love hanging out there.

Now however, it had been transformed into a prestigious, overly expensive restaurant that people rarely visited twice, and when they did visit, it was for the sole purpose of eating while ignoring everyone around them.  Laurent couldn’t name half of the employees, and not even a single one of the customers. The diner was nowhere near as homely as it had once been, and that made Laurent ache for the past even more.

He pocketed his phone and went to the front of the restaurant, where customers would soon be arriving.

Laurent had to consciously stop himself from flinching when he felt an arm suddenly wrap around his shoulders. He turned his head to find Paschal looking down at him, a big goofy smile on his face. Paschal, along with a handful of other employees, was one of the very few people who had been working here since Auguste’s time. Few as they were, their presence gave Laurent a sense of security and comfort he rarely felt anywhere else anymore.

“We missed you last evening, Laurent,” said Paschal, still crushing Laurent’s shoulders.

“Yeah I had a test this morning and I had to stay home to study.”

“Well, how did you do?”

“Nailed it.”

“That’s my boy!” exclaimed Paschal as he finally released Laurent and threw his hand up in the air, palm bared. Laurent felt his lips draw up in a genuine smile as he reached up to high-five him.

Paschal was ruffling Laurent’s hair affectionately when Berenger’s voice sounded behind them, “I hate to interrupt what seems to be such a notable moment to you, Paschal. I mean it’s not like Laurent is a straight-A's student or anything,” he said that with a proud smile in Laurent’s direction before continuing, “But the customers will be here soon and you need to set up in the kitchen.”

Paschal patted Laurent’s back and walked back to the kitchen, followed by Berenger who also patted Laurent's back proudly on his way in.

 

Most of the evening was uneventful; Laurent constantly traveled between the tables and the kitchen, balancing plates on his hands. He was starting to get extremely bored, -the knowledge that he had to work exceptionally late only making him feel worse- when Jokaste walked through the front door, followed by none other than Damen.

 _It’s gonna be a long night,_ Laurent thought.

To Laurent’s luck, they were seated in the area he was serving, making ignoring them out of the question. He silently prayed for patience as he made his way to their table.

He approached them, menus in hand, and tried to put on a smile. At the sight of him, Jokaste exclaimed, “Well, if it isn’t diner boy!”

Laurent ignored her and handed them their menus. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.” He turned to walk away, but not before he saw the small apologetic smile on Damen’s face.

Laurent tried not to dwell on it as he moved to serve other tables. _It’s nothing_ , he kept telling himself, _he’s always smiling like an idiot… What does it matter to me anyway?_

Far too soon, it was time to go back to Damen and Jokaste’s table. Laurent made his way there sulkily. He couldn’t wait for this night to be over.

“So, what can I get you?”

“I’ll get the margarita grilled chicken, with steamed broccoli instead of rice.” Jokaste stopped talking long enough for Laurent to write that down on a notebook before adding, “And a glass of wine.”

“You can’t have wine if you’re under twenty-one,” said Laurent, not even trying to mask his annoyance.

“Oh, come on! Won’t you make an exception for a friend?” she said with what she must’ve thought was a charming expression. Laurent thought she just looked catatonic. He didn’t think he could ever find her charming, even if he were remotely interested in women.

“For a friend, maybe. But like I said, no wine for _you_ till you’re twenty-one.”

Laurent heard Damen make a choking noise that was unmistakably a laugh. But he had the courtesy to cough into his fist and pretend he was having a coughing fit.

“Should I get you some water?” offered Laurent unurgently.

Damen cleared his throat. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Laurent looked back at Jokaste to find her glaring at Damen. She indulged herself in a few more seconds of that before she turned her glare back to Laurent.

“Fine. What can I drink here that has no sugar and no carbs?”

“Water.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” said Jokaste, her voice rising in indignation.

“Am I laughing?” said Laurent flatly.

They glared at each other, neither of them breaking eye contact for a number of seconds before the tension became too much for Damen and he said, sounding apologetic, “She’ll just have water, then. Right, Jokaste?”

She didn’t reply, only turned her glare back towards him. Damen ordered for himself, and Laurent left as soon as he finished speaking.

The minutes ticked by as Laurent distracted himself with visiting every table but theirs. But eventually, their orders were ready and he had to deliver them.

Laurent walked slowly, carefully balancing the plates in his unsteady hands. As he got closer, he heard Damen’s low voice say, “Jokaste, there’s something I really need to tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I wanna break up,” Damen pushed the words out like they had been on the tip of his tongue for ages.

 “ _What?!_ ” Jokaste’s voice was loud and full of equal measure anger and disbelief.

Laurent shook with silent laughter, the danger of dropping the plates becoming more and more prominent. A small part of his brain chided him for listening in on people’s private conversations, but that was completely forgotten when he saw the hysterical look on Jokaste’s face.

“What for?” Her increasingly rising voice was making people stare.

Damen looked around uneasily before saying, “Jokaste, please calm down. Can’t we just talk about this?”

Jokaste scoffed, but her voice was quieter when she replied, “Why? Do you like someone else?”

“Sort of, yes… That, among other reasons.”

 “So you admit you’re cheating on me?”

“No!” Damen answered so abruptly and loudly that he made the couple in the next table turn their heads towards them.

This was turning into quite the spectacle, and Laurent felt only a little guilty about enjoying it so much.

“I would never cheat. You know I’m not like that.”

Jokaste puckered her lips and hummed apathetically, “Too bad. Because I am.”

It took a moment for Laurent to understand what the words meant. When it finally dawned on him, he looked at Damen, who seemed to still be processing the words himself.

“What?” he said so quietly that Laurent could barely hear him from where he was standing a small distance away.

“You heard me. It happened a few times when you were too busy studying or working in your father’s stupid gas station to be with me.”

“I…” he seemed lost for words, “Who?”

Jokaste was inspecting her nails as if this conversation bored her. But she looked up at the question and said, a cruel smile twisting her mouth, “Kastor.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Laurent, but it must have to Damen because the color drained from his face and his mouth fell open. Eventually, he managed to get out, “My brother?”

Guilt finally caught up to Laurent at that. He realized he shouldn’t have been listening in; this wasn’t funny anymore. And although he didn’t really know Damen nor did he care for him much, he felt bad for him. So much that he considered _accidently_ spilling one of the dishes on Jokaste.

There was low, and then there was ‘cheating on someone with their brother’ kind of low.

The cruel smile was back on Jokaste’s face, “Don’t take it personal, Damen. He’s just so much more fun than you. Besides, he doesn’t spend all night studying or moaning about his _big, unachievable dreams_.”

Damen flinched at the way the last words were said; taunting and sneering. “Did you sleep with him?”

Jokaste had the audacity to laugh as she answered, “Well, obviously!”

Damen’s face contorted into something else this time, which could have been disgust. But before he could reply, Jokaste stood up and said, “Well, this dinner was no fun. I’ll see you around I guess.”

She left Damen shell-shocked and speechless as she headed towards the exit. When she found Laurent standing in her way, she kept walking as if she didn’t notice him. Laurent expected her to walk past him. After all, the restaurant was nowhere near small, and there was enough space for her to walk past him without touching him. However, she surprised Laurent by walking straight towards him and crashing into him, making him drop the plates, their contents drenching his sleeves.

“Oops! My bad,” said Jokaste as she stepped over the fallen food and broken dinnerware and out of the restaurant.

The sound of breaking porcelain must have waken Damen from his trance because he rushed to Laurent’s side and, to the latter’s surprise, knelt down to help him clean up. Laurent crouched down next to him and tried to take the broken pieces of a plate out of his hand, but Damen held on to them.

“Thanks. But you really don’t have to help,” said Laurent, resisting the urge to add, _and you’ve got enough to deal with already._

“It’s fine, really. I want to help,” replied Damen. His sweet smile was back on display, if not a little weaker than usual, and Laurent didn’t understand why that small smile made his heart skip a beat.

They cleaned silently; Laurent guessed Damen had a lot to think about, after all. It took quite a long time, but when they were finally finished, they straightened up and, just as Laurent was about to leave for the kitchen, Damen fished out his wallet from his back pocket.

“How much was it?”

Laurent waved his question away, “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I insist-”

“Seriously,” Laurent spoke over him, “you’ve already helped enough.”

Damen smiled again – _was he doing that on purpose?_ Laurent wondered, only a little irritated- then grabbed his jacket from his seat and, seeming lost in thought, walked out the door without another glance at Laurent.

 

Laurent could barely manage the climb up the stairs because of how exhausted he was. Thankfully, Stéphane seemed to have already fallen asleep and Laurent was spared having to deal with him.

He instinctively locked the door as soon as he walked into his room, then he hastily changed into sweatpants and a tee-shirt and plopped down on his bed. Checking his phone for the first time since he started work, Laurent spotted an unread text, received a few minutes after he had sent his last reply.

_Nomad609: You’re impossible. I can’t wait to meet you and put a face on that witty mind of yours._

Reading the text, Laurent laughed. It was unlikely they would ever meet, but the idea was enough to make butterflies flutter in Laurent’s stomach. He couldn’t help his mind painting a picture of Nomad, what he would look like, talk like, how he would treat Laurent so tenderly but still challenge him and bring out the best in him...

His thoughts started to become less and less coherent, slowly slipping into pleasant dreams as Laurent felt himself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! ^-^ I'll be posting a new chapter every Monday till I'm done writing the whole fic. Then I'll probably start updating twice a week or something, we'll see. Anyways don't forget to leave kudos and comments <3


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Damen was aware of when he woke up was a throbbing pain in his cheek. He brought a hand to it as he blinked away sleep, and memories of the previous night flooded his mind.

He had come home, his initial shock gone, confusion and betrayal fueling his anger like oil to a fire. He had found Kastor and, without explanation, dealt him a blow to the face. Kastor had reeled under the strong punch, confusion apparent on his face for only a second before his expression twisted into something cruel that Damen had never seen on his face before.

“So you finally found out,” Kastor had said, seeming impressed.

“How long has it been going on?” Damen gritted out from between clenched teeth.

“Longer than I can remember, honestly,” replied Kastor with the same twisted smile.

Damen wanted to wipe that smile off his face. He made to strike him again but Kastor was faster and more strongly built. They wrestled for a while, the act reminiscent of when they were children fooling around; except this time, their blows were truly meant to hurt.

Damen had managed to land as many punches as he had received before they finally collapsed on the ground, Kastor’s bigger frame holding Damen down.

“Why?” he had said weakly after catching his breath.

“Why not?” Kastor had replied, “You’re the favorite, you’re a football prodigy, a straight-A’s student. You’re given anything you ask for. From the moment you were born, father decided you were going to inherit his business, his wealth, his name, everything… All of which would have been mine had you never been born. But now, it’s like I barely exist. I’m just the bastard son he got from a one night stand that everyone wishes had never happened and pretends to forget it ever did.” His voice had risen wildly while he spoke, gesturing angrily with his hands. He exhaled deeply before continuing, his voice now cold and cruel again, “You took everything away from me. Why shouldn’t I give you a taste of what that feels like?”

Damen had had so many things to say: that none of it was his fault, that he didn’t care about football, that he didn’t want to inherit his father’s business or his money, that he had different dreams and wanted to make a name for himself… That he didn’t wish his father had never had that one night stand -sure, it must have broken his mother’s heart, although Damen hadn’t been born yet to witness it, but she had managed to forgive her husband and they had been happy in her last years. He didn’t wish it had never happened, simply because it had given him Kastor, his big brother and mentor, the person he had always looked up to and confided in. But now…

No words left Damen’s mouth. Eventually, Kastor had gathered himself up and left the room, leaving Damen on the ground, feeling even more confused than before their fight.

Damen groaned as he got out of bed. The last thing he wanted to do was go to school, where he was bound to run into Jokaste. And then he’d have to explain what happened to Nikandros…

Damen ran a hand down his face, trying to ease some of the tension out, and hissed in pain when his fingers applied too much pressure on his bruise. He picked up his phone from the nightstand and went through his notifications, ignoring most of them as his eyes zeroed in on one e-mail:  _from Princeton University._  His eyes barely registered the greeting at the top of the letter, only focusing on one word:  _congratulations!_

All his worries faded away for a minute, replaced by one singular thought. “I got in,” he whispered.

Getting into Princeton had been his dream since the beginning of high school, when he had decided he wanted more than the life his father had mapped out for him -playing football for USC and then running the family business. But big as it may be, being accepted in was only the first step. The next was to convince his father to let him go. Regardless of that, Damen felt lighter than he could remember feeling in so long.

He logged off his e-mail and typed a text to the first person that had popped into his head the moment he had spotted Princeton’s e-mail.

_Nomad609: Guess what?_

_Princetonboy818: You finally agree that sugarless black coffee is disgusting?_

_Nomad609: I got in!_

_Princetonboy818: Congrats! I’m so happy for you._

_Nomad609: Thanks. I’m so excited! Have you received anything yet?_

_Princetonboy818: No, not yet._

_Nomad609: Don’t worry about it. They’d be crazy not to want you there. Oh and by the way…_

_Princetonboy818: Yes?_

_Nomad609: How dare you say that?! Black coffee is a blessing to humanity._

Laurent set his phone down on his nightstand as he went to wash his face. As happy as he was for his friend, he couldn’t shake the fear that he might’ve not gotten in. After all, he hadn’t received any e-mails or letters from Princeton yet, although he and Nomad had sent their applications on the same day.

Changing into his school uniform, a thought crossed Laurent’s mind, and loath as he was to go through with it, he didn’t see another choice.

 

He stood in front of his uncle’s office, the sound of ruffling papers proof that he was inside. Laurent brought his hand up to the door, taking far longer than necessary to start knocking.

Stéphane’s voice came from inside, “Come in.”

Laurent pushed the door open and stepped inside the office that had once belonged to his brother. It was very organized; two out of four walls were completely obscured by tall bookshelves holding an impressive number of leather-bound tomes. His uncle was sitting behind an old mahogany desk, pen frozen in his hand as he regarded Laurent, one of his eyebrows raised. Laurent always avoided his uncle whenever he could, so naturally, Stéphane would have never expected him to come looking for him.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, leaning back in his chair. “Did you want something?”

Laurent took a deep breath to calm the anger that never failed to rise whenever his uncle was in sight. “I’m expecting a letter. It should have arrived by now but I can’t find it. I thought maybe you might’ve collected it with your mail.”

“A letter?” Now his other eyebrow rose too.

“From Princeton.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I don’t remember coming across such a letter. Would you like to stay and help me look through my mail? Perhaps I missed it.”

It wasn’t a true proposal since there was no way Laurent was going to spend a second more than absolutely necessary with his uncle, and Stéphane knew that. So Laurent just turned around to leave.

“Let me know if you come across it,” he said as he pulled the heavy door closed behind him. He couldn’t wait to kick Stéphane out of that office.

 

The hours blurred together for the rest of the day. Laurent saw Damen in school, but only from a distance. More than once, he had the strangest urge to go up to him and ask him how he was doing, but he stopped himself every time. They weren’t friends –they were barely even on speaking terms. Besides, he didn’t need to ask him to know what had happened last night; the swelling bruise on his cheek was explanation enough.

Work was uneventful as well -especially compared to last night. When Laurent finally made it back home, he was ready to finish his homework then go directly to sleep. But just as he was getting into bed, he received a text from the one person he could never ignore.

_Nomad609: It’s been such a long day…_

_Princetonboy818: Tell me about it.  Have you told your dad about Princeton yet?_

_Nomad609: If only I could. I haven't even told him I wanna be a writer._

_Princetonboy818: My dad died when I was eight, so I barely knew him. But my brother always encouraged me to pursue my dreams._

_Nomad609: Not my father. He has a whole other plan for my life. And don’t even get me started on my brother…_

One text was followed by another and then another, and Laurent lost track of time. He looked at the time after what felt like mere minutes to find that it was already three o’clock.

_Princetonboy818: It's 3am. We've been at this for five hours._

_Nomad609: Well, I think we broke our record._

_Princetonboy818: We should turn in. Sweet dreams._

_Nomad609: Wait..._

_Princetonboy818: …_

_Nomad609: I can't sleep without knowing there's hope._

_Princetonboy818: Hope?_

_Nomad609: Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze, I sorrow. For the hands, the lips, the eyes… For the meeting of tomorrow._

_Princetonboy818: Quoting Tennyson. Impressive._

_Nomad609: Please meet me at the homecoming dance. I'll be waiting for you at 11:00 in the middle of the dance floor._

Laurent didn’t know how to feel. His initial reaction was joy; he was finally going to meet Nomad, something he had dreamed of since they had started corresponding. But reality quickly set in, ripping his joy away, as it always did. There were so many things that could go wrong. Nomad might not be who Laurent thought he was; maybe he was lying, maybe he wasn’t even real, only a cruel joke someone had started to mess with him, maybe the culprit finally decided he wanted to meet his victim. Maybe Nomad didn’t even truly exist…

But the thought that troubled Laurent the most was entirely different: what if Nomad turned out to be exactly who he said he was, but once he met Laurent, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him? After all, he was Diner Boy, the person all his spoiled schoolmates constantly made fun of. How could Nomad be any different?

Laurent was so lost in thought that he exhausted himself into a restless sleep without noticing he had received one last text.

_Nomad609: Sweet dreams._


	4. Chapter 4

“That was close,” said Jord, ducking to avoid the oncoming ball. “But you’re finally gonna be able to meet him.”

“I don’t know,” said Laurent, swinging his baseball bat and motioning for Jord to throw the next ball. “He’s too good to be true.”

“Come on, it's been, like, a month since you met him in that Princeton chat room, okay? You know him.”

“But he doesn't know me,” muttered Laurent under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“I said throw the damn ball,” shouted Laurent, far louder than the distance between them required.

Jord put the ball back in place and walked closer to Laurent. “What’s the _real_ problem here?”

Laurent considered lying, but he knew Jord would see right through him. He lowered his bat and turned it over in his hands as he spoke, “Well, what if I meet him and I'm not what he expects? He’s probably expecting some popular Tumblr model who writes poetry and hangs out at Starbucks. Instead he’s gonna get Diner Boy.” He took a steadying breath. “Maybe this whole relationship is just better for cyberspace.”

Jord went to stand next to Laurent and threw an arm around his shoulders. “You listen to me, okay? You have to go to that dance. I guarantee you, your Nomad will fall in love the moment he lays eyes on you. Look at you!” he exclaimed, ruffling Laurent’s hair. “You could totally be a model if you wanted, you’re gorgeous. I know _I_ would’ve fallen for you ages ago if I didn’t have such a vivid memory of you eating the playground sand.”

Laurent snorted. “You said I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“And you’ve never been one to turn down a challenge. Look, his Nomad guy isn't gonna be in one place for long, all right?” When he saw Laurent hesitate, he added, “If it helps, I’ll be your escort.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“You rock, Jord,” said Laurent, poking Jord in the ribs.

Jord was untangling his arm from around Laurent when his phone started ringing.

“It’s a reminder for my shift at the diner. But I’ve got the night off,” explained Laurent. “Come on, one more pitch!”

Jord walked back to the pitching machine. “Why do you even listen to your uncle? You own the place, you don’t have to work there.”

“Simple. No Stéphane, no money for Princeton. At least not till I’m eighteen.”

“That sucks,” said Jord as he threw the ball.

“Tell me about it,” said Laurent, his voice bordering on sulky. As the ball neared, he couldn’t help but picture Stéphane’s face on it. He swung the bat and hit it as hard as he could, channeling all his anger into the blow.

“Woah! It’s out of here,” shouted Jord as the ball soared high, flew past the field’s limit and landed in the adjacent football-training field.

 

Damen stepped aside just in time to dodge the oncoming ball. He searched for where it could’ve come from and found a pair of students in the baseball field, one of them whooping and cheering for the other.

“Now that’s impressive,” Damen remarked as he threw the ball back.

“Thank you!” came the thrower’s reply.

“You’re welcome!”

“So, what are you and Jokaste going to the dance as?” asked Nik, passing Damen the ball.

Damen turned the ball in his hands for a second before tossing it back and answering, “I’m not going with Jokaste.”

“Why not?”

“We broke up.”

“What? What happened?” asked Nik, surprised.

“It’s a long story. Doesn’t matter, really,” answered Damen. Nik had been his best friend since kindergarten and he considered him a brother -even more so than Kastor at the moment. Still, Damen was in no mood to share what had happened. He hasn’t even been able to make sense of it in his own head yet.

“You know, I didn’t want to say this before and come between you two, but I always thought you were too good for her.”

Damen hummed noncommittally. He knew Nik was probably right, but it still felt narcissistic to agree.

“Well if you’re not going with Jokaste than who are you gonna go with?”

“I don’t know,” said Damen, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a mystery to me.”

 

Damen supposed there _were_ a number of things that he hated more than working in his father’s gas station: being around Jokaste when she was in a bad mood, listening to Pallas talk about how perfect Lazar is, listening to Nik talk about how cool football is… As he bent over the hood of a car, he kept reciting them in his head to keep himself from thinking of the infinity of things he would rather be doing.

“Damianos,” he heard his father’s voice call.

“Yes?” Damen straightened up to find his father towering over him.

“What's with all those college brochures in your bedroom?” he asked accusingly.

“What were you doing in my room?” asked Damen in the same tone.

When Theomedes shot him a glare and remained silent, Damen sighed and said, “I’m trying to keep my options open.”

To Damen’s surprise, his father smiled and put both hands on his shoulders. “You don't need options. It’s all taken care of. Look, son, we've been working on this program since you were nine years old. You're gonna play USC football, graduate and then you'll manage this business with me. Your future's set.” He patted Damen’s shoulder and said, “Don’t mess with the plan, all right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” answered Damen sulkily as another car pulled over next to them.

“There’s another customer. Go and make them happy.”

Damen went to said car; it was so clear that it was extremely old that even Damen –who hadn’t been a fan of cars since he was twelve years old- couldn’t look at it without cringing. He heard himself say, “You need a wax.”

“Excuse me?” came the angry reply from the driver.

Damen ran his sentence through his head again and was suddenly aware of what it sounded like. “Oh, I meant the car,” he said hurriedly.

“Well fine,” said the driver, opening his window some more, and Damen saw who it was for the first time.

It was Laurent DeVere –the waiter from last night.

Damen hated to have last night be Laurent’s first impression of him. He tried to catch his eye and make conversation. Unfortunately, Laurent seemed determined not to make eye contact even as Damen said to him, “Take this inside when you're done.”

“All right,” he said, taking the ticket and driving away.

Damen watched him leave, considering whether he should try to make conversation with him at school. He wasn’t even sure why, but it mattered to him that Laurent thought well of him.

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice a car stopping next to him until its driver stepped out of it and came running towards him.

“Hi Damen,” Erasmus said cheerfully.

“Hi,” Damen replied, putting on a smile. “What can I do for you today, Sam?”

Erasmus’ smile widened at the use of his nickname. He pointed at his car and said, “I need my car washed.”

 _That you do_ , Damen thought. His car was covered in an immense amount of dirt that Damen knew was impossible to collect in the week that Erasmus hadn’t come to have his car washed.

Of course, Damen knew the real reason the younger boy kept coming back, but he had no heart to tell him he wasn’t interested. As mischievous as Erasmus was, he was sweet and the kind of person who quickly grew on you. Damen didn’t want to be the one to break his heart. After all, he had no doubt it was only a temporary crush that would fade with time.

“Sure,” Damen replied. “I’m on it.”

 

Finally home from the car wash, Laurent realized he didn’t have a costume for tonight. He climbed the stairs to his room, trying to come up with a costume and disregarding each idea he got, none of them feeling right.

Turning the corner, still lost in thought, he almost collided with Stéphane. He stopped dead in front of him, wondering what he was doing here -his room was on the other side of the floor and they barely ever went into each other’s spaces.

“What are you doing here?” Stéphane asked. “Don’t you have work tonight?”

“It’s my night off.”

“Oh, it must’ve slipped my mind,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I meant to tell you, I need you to work tonight.”

“I can’t go,” said Laurent flatly.

“You can’t go?” repeated his uncle suspiciously. “Do you have an important test tomorrow, too?”

“No actually, I’m going to a school dance.”

“A school dance?” asked Stéphane incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Laurent, sweetheart,” -Laurent had to stop himself from gagging at the pet name- “you need to stop being so self-centered and start thinking of others. And others need you to go to the diner and serve the tables.”

“But I  _need_ to go to this party!” said Laurent, ignoring the bitter taste that begging left in his mouth.

“No. What you need is to earn your college tuition. Do you expect me to just pay it without any effort from your part?”

Laurent wanted to scream at him that he wouldn’t be doing him a favor, the money was Laurent’s. Instead, he took a deep breath to compose himself and said, “I’m a straight A’s student. I work six days a week and I’m taking extra AP classes. I never asked you for anything. Can’t you just let me go to this dance?”

Stéphane sighed. “Sweetheart, now that you’re old enough, there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you, and I think you’re ready to hear it.” He paused and looked at Laurent piteously. “You’re not very bright. And as pretty as you might be, it won’t earn you a place in a good college. I think it’s about time you gave up on foolish dreams and had more realistic aspirations. You could model, for example. You sure have the physique for it.”

Laurent had no idea what to say to that. His blood was boiling and his head buzzed with a thousand curses he wanted to spit out, but he was speechless.

When it was clear Laurent wasn’t going to answer him, Stéphane smiled and said pleasantly, “I’m so glad we had that talk.” Then he walked back to his side of the house.

 

Laurent was wiping the counter when Stéphane stepped into the diner, all the employees’ heads turning to look at him.

“It must be Halloween. Look what just flew in,” whispered Paschal behind Laurent. “The Wicked Witch of the Valley.”

The two men snickered quietly as Stéphane walked up to them. He stopped in front of the counter and addressed Laurent, “Now, I have work I must get to. But I’ll be back at twelve sharp to check up on you, is that clear?”

“Got it, Dorothy Gale?” said Paschal, still shaking with laughter.

“Excuse me?” Stéphane looked affronted, and more than a little confused.

“Oh, you’re excused,” answered Paschal, waving his knife carelessly.

Stéphane flinched away from it. He glared at the cook angrily as he said, “I don’t think you realize that I could-”

“Fire me? Oh please, go right ahead,” retorted Paschal. “Let’s see how many customers you have left when you do.”

Stéphane looked offended but he straightened up nonetheless, trying to give himself a sense of importance. “I’m a very appealing person,” he said proudly before finally leaving the diner.

Laurent and Paschal turned towards each other and said, both at the same time and in the same mocking tone,  _“I’m a very appealing person!”_

“That man can make a nun swear,’” said Paschal.

“I’m graduating a year early so I can be 3000 miles away in Princeton.”

“You could go to the University of Mars and it still wouldn’t be far enough.”

Laurent sighed, and just as he turned back to the dirty counter, he heard someone approaching again. He looked up and was startled to see a large black shape standing in front of him.

He only recognized him as Jord when he spoke. “Have no fear,” he said, his cloak billowing behind him, “Zorro is here.”

He basically ran towards Laurent squealing, “And he’s got the keys to his father’s Mercedes.” He stopped in front of the counter and gave Laurent a once over. “You’re not going as a bus boy, are you?”

“I’m not going, period,” said Laurent without looking up from the counter.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” he asked, stepping around the counter to get to Laurent. Berenger, who had been standing close, shooed him away from the employees-only space. “Sorry, sorry. What about cyberdude?”

“Cyberdude?” asked Berenger curiously.

“You mean the boy that's been sending you love notes?” Paschal joined in.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “They’re not love notes, they’re e-mails.”

“Listen kiddo,” started Paschal seriously, pointing his knife at Laurent. “If a man is taking the time to write down his feelings for you, it's a love note.” He grinned so wide that all his teeth showed and squeaked out, “You’ve got a secret admirer.”

“And he wants to meet him tonight at the dance,” added Jord in the same singsong tone.

Paschal looked at Laurent, eyes wide. “Then what are you still doing here?”

“Obeying orders,” said Laurent, in the same tone one would say  _duh_.

“Laurent, this is your true love.”

“Well true love is gonna have to wait.”

Paschal waved his hand dismissively. “Oh kid please, save all that drama for the soap operas. You are going to that dance.”

“I can’t. Stéphane would kill me… And then bring me back to clean up the mess,” said Laurent bitterly.

“Well he’ll have to go through me to hurt you.”

Laurent hesitated. He knew Paschal meant well, but there was nothing he could do to help him.

“Laurent, your brother did not leave this earth wanting you to be unhappy.” Paschal came closer and put a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. He smiled at him encouragingly as he said, “It’s time for you to find your own bliss, starting with this dance.”

“Laurent,” called Berenger who had been watching the conversation unfold silently, “you need to listen to Paschal. You’re always studying, always working. Take some time for yourself.”

Paschal seemed delighted at the support. He smiled wider and added, “Yeah, why don’t you go out and bust a move? Put your freak on. Whatever it is you kids do these days.”

Laurent laughed. “You know what?” He said, slamming down the rug with which he was cleaning the counter. “You guys are right. I never do anything for myself.”

“No, you don’t,” said Paschal at the same time that Jord said, “True.”

“And I deserve to have some fun.”

“That’s right,” said Jord again.

“I am gonna go to that dance. And I’m gonna meet my true Iove and I’m gonna dance all night,” declared Laurent, euphoria making him feel lighter and more cheerful than he could remember feeling in ages.

Paschal started clapping his hands enthusiastically, Jord and Berenger joining him. Customers all around the diner looked at them, some frowned confusedly and some smiled. The ones who were sitting close and who had probably eavesdropped on the conversation joined in on the applause.

Suddenly, a bitter thought crossed Laurent’s mind and cut through his joy. “I can’t go,” he said miserably.

“What?” asked Jord, who looked like he just heard the world’s stupidest joke.

“I don’t have a costume.”

Berenger narrowed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. “But you will,” he said, taking Laurent by the wrist and pulling him outside. “You coming, Zorro? Paschal?”

 

“Where are we going?” asked Laurent as they crossed street after street, most of the shops they walked past readying to close up.

“You’ll see,” said Berenger without slowing down.

When they finally stopped, Laurent’s hand hurt from being pulled for what felt like an hour. He looked around to find that they were standing in front of a costume shop. A man with flowing red hair was locking up when he noticed them.

“Thank god you’re still here,” said Berenger sounding breathless from running.

“Berenger? What are you doing here?”

Berenger pointed at Laurent and said, “He needs a costume.”

Sighing, the man rolled his eyes but put the keys back in the lock just the same.

As they walked into the shop, Laurent whispered to Berenger, “You must be real close friends if he’s letting us into his shop this late.”

Berenger frowned at him and said, “Ancel is my husband.”

Ancel’s shop wasn’t what Laurent had in mind when he thought of a costume shop. It was impeccably organized: the clothes were sorted by theme, color and material, and they were positioned strategically on the walls and in rows so one could see most of them at the same time. Counters surrounded the cash register, some bearing wigs, masks and hats, while others were covered in clear glass which protected the expensive-looking jewelry that was artfully arranged beneath it.

Ancel stood in the center of the shop, spread his arms wide and said, “Take your pick.”

 

After spending some time with Ancel, Laurent thought the shop somewhat reflected its owner’s personality. It was flamboyant and a bit over the top but somehow, it remained classy and elegant. It was full of all sorts of clothes that seemed to be of Ancel’s taste: it was impossible to find a single piece of clothing that wasn’t mostly made of fur, silk or lace and that covered more than fifty percent of the wearer’s skin.

Unfortunately, Laurent and Ancel’s tastes didn’t aline. After what felt like hours of trying on one costume after another, Laurent was starting to lose hope, and he sensed Paschal, Jord and Berenger felt the same. Ancel however, seemed determined to find him something.

“Here,” he said, rising from the lap of an intensely blushing Berenger and pushing a white bundle into Laurent’s hands. “Try this one on.”

As Laurent stepped out of the dressing room wearing a comical imitation of a Greek chiton that barely reached his knees and was so loose it could fit two of Laurent in it, Paschal finally gasped, “This is hopeless.” He crossed his arms on the counter he had been leaning on and buried his head in them.

Laurent was looking at him miserably, seriously considering going to this dance in jeans and a T-shirt, when Paschal looked up suddenly and said, pointing at something under the glass that he was leaning his head on, “Wait. Ancel, let me see that mask.”

Ancel reached under the glass and pulled something out. As Laurent got closer, he could see that it was a beautiful white mask, covered in lace and embroidery, with an assortment of small diamonds at each edge where the securing string protruded.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Ancel. “Unfortunately I don’t have an outfit that goes with it.”

“Yeah, but I do,” said Paschal, still observing the mask thoughtfully.

 

“Paschal, you sure do have a knack for taking something simple and making it beautiful,” said Laurent as he paged through a picture book of Paschal’s personified dishes.

After they had all given up on finding an adequate costume in Ancel’s shop, Paschal had invited Laurent to his house, claiming to have the perfect outfit for him.

“Well, you ain't seen nothing yet,” came Paschal’s reply as he stepped through the door, a large box in hand.

He set it down on the coffee table and motioned for Laurent to come sit with him on the couch.

“I was saving this for my next attempt down the aisle,” said Paschal as he opened the box. At Laurent’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Long story.”

Laurent looked inside the box and couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Paschal, I can’t wear that.”

“Yes you can. And you will,” insisted Paschal, “It has been in that box so long; it deserves a night out almost as much as you do.”

Laurent chuckled and looked inside the box again. There was a stunning tuxedo -a bit old fashioned, but that only made it look vintage and more beautiful. Instead of a tie, it had a silver handkerchief, decorated with a single white diamond in the centre. The jacket, waistcoat and trousers were all of a gleaming white, with small twinkling diamonds for buttons.

“Alright, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I can't wait for you to read the next one because it was my favorite to write and I hope you'll love it as much as I do xD  
> As always, kudos and comments are a delight so don't hesitate to leave one <3


	5. Chapter 5

As Laurent and Jord entered the Valley Royal Hotel, they heard Aimeric’s voice reverberating through the room, “Welcome, North Valley High School seniors, to the Halloween homecoming dance. Tonight, our panel of esteemed teachers will use their years of higher education to choose our homecoming royalty. In true LA Fashion, it’s not about who you are. It’s about what you wear,” he joked. “Are you ready to crank it up?”

A loud collective “Yeah!” rose from the crowd and Laurent stopped dead in his tracks.

Jord tugged at his arm and said impatiently, “Come on. You can do this.”

“Sorry, I’m just freaking out here,” said Laurent, shouting to be heard over the loud music.

“Listen, it’s gonna be okay. Now hurry up, it’s almost eleven.”

“Jord remember, I have to be back in the diner by midnight, okay?”

Jord pulled out his cellphone. “Okay, I’ve set an alarm for a quarter to midnight. You do the same on your phone, okay?”

Laurent set the alarm then put his phone back in his pocket. He looked up to find Jord regarding him with raised eyebrows. “It’s time, now. Mask on.”

Laurent looked at the mask in his hands. It looked beautiful as ever, white to suit his all-white tuxedo and big enough to cover the upper half of his face.

He put it on, took a deep breath and stepped into the ballroom.

 

Damen stepped into the ballroom. His palms were sweaty and his fingers fidgeting. He couldn’t remember feeling this nervous since middle school, when he had asked his first crush out.

He looked around and was able to spot Nik and Pallas easily due to their conspicuous costumes.

“What’s up?” Damen said when he reached them.

“Sorry about your costume getting lost, Damen,” said Nik, an edge of irritation in his voice.

“It’s all good," said Damen dismissively. His costume hadn't gotten lost at all, he just wasn't going to meet Princeton Boy in a cartoonish costume and a wig that looked like a giant spider.

“Not it’s not. Now we don’t get to be the three musketeers.” He pointed to Damen and then to himself and Pallas. “You get to be Prince Charming and we’re the two wimps in wigs.”

Damen snorted. They really did look weird, but he would never say that aloud in fear of pissing Nik off even more. “I don’t see Pallas complaining," he said instead.

They both turned to look at him, only to find him ogling the crowd, completely oblivious to their conversation.

“Yeah he’s too busy drooling over Lazar,” teased Nik.

Damen threw an arm around Pallas’ neck and the latter jumped, startled. “Oh hey, Damen. When did you get here? I didn’t notice you.”

Damen and Nik exchanged an amused glance. “Of course you didn’t,” he said, following Pallas’ previous line of sight and spotting Lazar in a pirate costume, sipping a drink and conversing with a group of friends. “What are you waiting for? Go talk to him.”

Pallas shook his head. “No way, man.”

At that moment, Lazar looked over in their direction, and Damen waved at him enthusiastically. Lazar waved back, grinning when he noticed Pallas blushing.

Damen nudged his friend forward. “Go on. True love beckons,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Pallas flipped him off but proceeded to walk in Lazar’s direction after taking a deep breath -and a sip from his drink which he had probably spiked.

Damen watched for a minute as he approached Lazar and started talking to him. When he looked at Nik, he saw that he was eyeing him suspiciously. “What?” Damen asked.

“There’s something going on with you,” answered Nik, still looking him up and down.

Damen grinned. “Maybe.”

Nik raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan to elaborate or should I start guessing?”

Damen smiled as he started to walk towards the center of the dance floor. “I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.”

 

Laurent couldn’t remember ever seeing a disco ball this close up –he had never had the occasion to, being that he wasn’t really the partying type. But tonight, standing under one in the middle of the dance floor, he couldn’t help but be fascinated with it and the light reflecting on it in a mesmerizing way. He distracted himself with observing it, because the alternative would be to think about what he was doing; and if he did that, he might bolt out of the hotel in fear.

Jord must’ve sensed his unease because he touched his shoulder and said gently, “Don’t worry, okay? Any guy would have to be completely insane not to like you.”

Laurent smiled at him weakly. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m just gonna be standing right over there.” He pointed behind himself and said, “Let me know if you need me, okay?”

Laurent nodded and watched Jord walk away, quickly getting sucked into the crowd. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He tried to distract himself again by watching what the people around him were doing. He spotted a few familiar faces: Jokaste and her group of friends with an expression of scorn and superiority on their faces as they eyed and judged people from a distance, Lazar –Laurent’s lab partner- dancing with someone Laurent didn’t recognize, Torveld talking to Erasmus –the shy new exchange student who had seemed to be having trouble making friends…

During lunch one day, when Laurent hadn’t been hungry, he had went to the library to spend his free time with a book. That’s where he had found Erasmus eating his lunch all alone in a secluded part of the library. When Laurent asked why he was there, Erasmus had said that he didn’t know anyone he could sit with in the cafeteria, and that he preferred the company of books to people anyways.

He was a perfect match for Torveld.  _Good for him,_  thought Laurent as he watched Torveld hold his hand out for Erasmus, inviting him to dance. 

“Princeton Boy?”

The voice startled Laurent. He turned around to see the speaker, heart pounding and stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“Damen Akielon?” he asked incredulously. “You’re Nomad?”

Damen laughed nervously. “Yeah. I guess my costume doesn’t do a very good job of hiding who I am.”

“No, I know exactly who you are,” said Laurent as he made for the exit. “I’m sorry. This was a really big mistake. I have to go.”

Cursing himself for getting his hopes up, Laurent made his way through the crowd as fast as he could with the number of bodies blocking his way. But to his surprise, Damen chased after him and stood in front of him to keep Laurent from getting any further. “Wait! Wait, it’s not a mistake.”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Of course I do,” Damen answered quickly, but then he hesitated. “You’re Princeton Boy. You’re the guy I’ve been talking to for weeks and have been wanting to meet for so long. I know who you are.”

Laurent just stood there, unspeaking. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to tell Damen who he was or not.

Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything because Damen beat him to it and said, “I guess you were expecting some guy who hangs out at Starbucks and writes poetry.”

“Something like that,” Laurent replied. “I mean come on, you’re Damen Akielon. You’re football captain and student body president.  _And_  closet poet? You can’t be both guys.”

“I’m not.”

“Then who are you?” asked Laurent, more than a little irritated.

Damen chewed on his bottom lip for a second before answering, “On September 7th, I wrote to you: I live in a world full of people pretending to be something they’re not. But when I talk to you-”

“-I’m the guy I want to be,” finished Laurent.

Damen looked relieved that Laurent remembered. “Give me a chance to be that guy.”

Laurent hesitated for a second longer before finally giving in. With a defeated sigh, he said, “Fine.”

Damen’s face lit up as his lips curved into an illuminating smile. “Do you want to join me for a stroll outside?”

“You know, if you want to be voted homecoming prince, you’d better stay inside.”

“I really don’t care about becoming homecoming prince,” said Damen as he offered his arm for Laurent to take.

Laurent linked elbows with him, surprisingly liking being so close to Damen and feeling his body warmth. Damen seemed pleased; he smiled at Laurent again, his dimple deepening, before leading them outside.

 

Stepping outside, the cool air of the autumn night shocked Damen enough to bring him back to his senses, and he realized he hadn’t asked for a name. He couldn’t really blame himself for forgetting, though.

At first, he had been stunned with the boy’s beauty. Sure, he couldn’t see most of the upper half of his face, but he saw enough.

Damen wondered how he hadn’t noticed him before. He had short blond hair –Damen’s weakness- and elegant features which Damen couldn’t decide whether they gave him a delicate or an intimidating look. His eyes were of such a deep blue that Damen feared he would drown in them if he looked too long...

And afterwards, the boy had wanted to leave, and Damen’s heart felt like it was being crushed as he chased after him. All common sense left his mind at the thought that this boy –his closest confidant, the person he’d stayed up till the morning with several times talking about their shared dreams and exchanging rhapsodies, the person who knew him the best- was going to leave him, that they might never meet again.

So Damen had forgotten to ask for the blue-eyed beauty’s name.

Looking into those eyes now, he noticed that the boy was looking back, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Damen realized that he had been staring at him silently this whole time, which must’ve made him uncomfortable.

“So, Princeton Boy, would you tell me who you are if I guessed it right?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Damen cocked an eyebrow. “Well, how about we play twenty questions?”

“How about ten?” said the boy, grinning defiantly.

Damen sighed, but he could feel the smile tugging on his lips. “I’ll take what I can get.”

They walked on under a white pergola, its roof and columns covered in intertwining vines and flowers, which created a wall between the two of them and the rest of the world.

“Okay, first question. You do actually go to North Valley High School, right?”

The blond laughed at the absurdity of the question, the sound of his mirth a melody in Damen’s ears. “Of course.”

“Look, I’m just checking,” said Damen, baring his palms. “I mean, you never know with the internet.”

“Okay, next question,” he said, his voice still high with laughter.

“Were you disappointed when you found out that I was Nomad?” Damen had to ask. “Be honest.”

The boy hummed thoughtfully. “Surprisingly, no.”

Damen was extremely relieved, but he tried to play it cool. “Did you vote for me for student body president?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Really?” Damen asked arrogantly.

The boy grinned and nodded his head.

“Okay, given the choice, would you prefer sweet or savory?”

“Sweet. But what does that matter?”

“Hey, I’m trying to get to know you, here,” said Damen. “Besides, I’ll at least know what to get you if I screw this up.”

The blond laughed again, his blue eyes shining with amusement. Damen was absolutely mesmerized by them.

He stopped walking and the boy followed his lead. Damen turned towards him and said, “You’d think I’d remember those eyes.” He delighted in the blush creeping up the blond’s cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.”

The boy smiled shyly and looked down. Just as Damen thought to tilt his chin up, not wanting to waste a second he could spend looking into those eyes, the boy looked up and started walking again. “Next question.”

 

They reached what looked like a wedding venue. Wooden chairs were arranged in rows on either side of the rose petal-strewn aisle that Laurent and Damen walked. It led to a beautiful wooden gazebo lit with tens of candles and fairy lights; vines of pink and white roses coiled around its columns and cascaded down its roof like curtains.

Damen held Laurent’s hand up the few steps of the gazebo. “If I asked you to dance, would that count as a question?”

“There’s no music,” Laurent pointed out.

“So?” said Damen, grinning.

Laurent couldn’t help returning the smile, especially when Damen bowed gallantly, took Laurent’s hand again and placed it on his shoulder.

He took Laurent’s other hand in one of his while Damen’s other hand went to Laurent’s waist, the touch light, almost shy.

They had barely started swaying when they heard a symphony start. They looked to the right of the gazebo to find a small band of three people, one of them stroking the violin’s strings while the other two unpacked their own instruments.

Laurent hadn’t noticed them before, but it occurred to him now that they must’ve been there all along. There had probably been a wedding here only minutes ago, that would explain the still-lit candles, the petal-strewn aisle and the band that hadn’t yet left.

The three musicians smiled at them, and both Damen and Laurent burst into shy laughter, their heads falling forward. When Laurent looked up, he found Damen looking at him fondly, a twinkle in his warm eyes. Laurent could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

Their movements became more consistent as the melody picked up -a slow languid tune that had them swaying in circles around the gazebo, their bodies gravitating closer and closer until they were almost flush against each other.

Damen spun Laurent around in circles twice before dipping him almost to the ground. Laurent’s blush deepened, and he couldn’t help the laugh escaping his lips as Damen helped him upright again.

Damen stopped and let go of Laurent’s hands and waist, his hands reaching higher to Laurent’s face –to his mask. Just as Damen caught the edges of the mask, Laurent stepped back. He wasn’t sure he was ready to reveal his identity yet. He wanted this dream to last a little longer.

Damen however, seemed unfazed. He bowed again, offering his hand as he threw Laurent one of his wide sweet smiles. Laurent delighted in being able to look at that smile for as long as he wanted without worrying about Damen noticing.

He took Damen’s hand and the brunet spun him in a circle again before bringing him back into his arms, resuming their earlier dance.

Laurent lost track of how much time they had spent dancing –he had no problem continuing for the rest of his life. But eventually, Damen slowed their movements down. Laurent kept expecting him to start talking, but he didn’t. He just looked at Laurent, seeming enthralled by him.

They swayed gently as the music slowed, his arms around Laurent’s waist and Laurent’s arms around Damen’s neck, each of them unconsciously pulling the other closer.

“All out of questions?” Laurent asked to break the silence.

“Do you believe in love from the first sight?”

Laurent considered his answer for a second. “I’ll let you know.”

Damen shook his head slightly. “But I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes, you have.”

“How could I have seen you before, but not know who you are now?” asked Damen, still shaking his head.

“Maybe you were looking, but you weren’t really seeing.”

When Damen didn’t answer, seeming lost in Laurent’s eyes, the blond reminded him, “Hey, you’ve got one more question left.”

Damen let go of him and held one finger up. Then he turned around and picked a white rose from one of the fallen vines.

“Do you, Princeton Boy, think you made the right choice meeting me here tonight?” asked Damen as he offered him the rose.

“I do,” said Laurent truthfully, accepting the gift. “And do you, Damen Akielon, ever wanna see me again after tonight?”

Damen sighed and pretended to consider. “Well I’d have to think about that.”

Laurent laughed, only half certain he was joking.

“Absolutely,” whispered Damen as he leaned in.

His hands came up to Laurent’s face as he kept leaning closer. Laurent didn’t know if Damen meant to cup his face to kiss him or if he wanted to take his mask off. And frankly, he didn’t care.

Damen brushed a fallen strand of hair away from Laurent’s eyes and in that moment, Laurent thought, _I would let him.Whichever he decided to do, I would let him._

When their lips were only inches apart, Laurent closed his eyes –and that’s when he heard it: a sharp ringing, so at odds with the harmonious melody.

“Not now,” he whispered in frustration.

“What?”

“I have to go,” said Laurent apologetically.

“Do you have a curfew or something?” asked Damen, his voice sounding confused –disappointed even.

“Something like that,” answered Laurent. “I’m sorry. But thank you, this has been the most amazing night.”

He hurried back the way they had come, Damen shouting behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m late,” he shouted back.

“For what?”

“Reality,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Damen one last time.

 

 Damen was shocked. He had no idea what had just happened. He worried he might’ve moved too fast and scared him away. _But what’s with the alarm?_ he wondered.

Finally, he realized that his only way of finding out was to chase after him.

Damen bolted after the boy, his mind racing with questions and fears alike. He blamed himself for not asking for a name at least. How would he ever find him again?

He had just entered the ballroom when the music stopped. Craning his neck and scanning the crowd for the masked boy, he distantly heard Aimeric’s voice replace the music. “It’s almost midnight. And that means it’s time for our jury to announce who they’ve selected.”

Damen found Nik by the punch, refilling his cup. “Have you seen the guy I was with?” Damen tripped over his words in his haste.

“No, I haven’t seen him,” said Nik. “But you missed it. Pallas and Lazar were all over each other, hands and tongue and all. The teachers told them to behave or take it outside. Needless to say, Pallas has left early.” He raised his palm in the air. “Our boy is getting some!”

His hand hung there, waiting for Damen’s high-five, but Damen was barely listening to him. He kept his eyes on the crowd, focusing on every white costume he saw.

A teacher’s voice replaced Aimeric’s, announcing, “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Your North Valley High homecoming royalty are…” She stopped for dramatic effect then shouted, “Prince Charming and CinderEli!”

“It’s you, Damen!” said Nik cheerfully and Damen felt himself being pushed towards the stage by Nik and the other students in the crowd.

Once there, he heard the teacher say, “Bravo! There he is!” before she looked up at the entrance of the ballroom and said, “Oh, looks like someone’s playing hard to get.”

Damen followed her line of sight to see Princeton Boy bolting up the stairs to the exit, someone dressed all in black hot on his heels.

Damen ran after him, elbowing past the stunned students and taking the stairs two at a time. Still, by the time he reached the landing, the two boys were already at the hotel’s exit. He made to follow them but his foot hit something solid on the ground. He crouched down and picked it up; it was a phone. The same phone that had rang earlier.

Damen pocketed it and continued running after them, but it was too late. By the time he reached the parking lot, he could see a white Mercedes hurtling away, an unmistakable blond head in the passenger seat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! This chapter was my favorite to write because you know... Fluff and happiness... It's all I wanted to write when I started this fic before it all went downhill and angst took over xD anyways I hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry if there are any errors, I usually read through every chapter before posting it but I'm on vacation and I don't have time :/ I'll probably come back and edit it later tho.  
> As usual, kudos and comments make my day so don't hesitate to leave one ^-^  
> EDIT: ok so I've done some minor edits now that I found the time so yaay. Also let's pretend that in this AU we've got both a Cinderella and a Cindereli xD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought there was no chance of me updating today because of ao3 being down but it's back and so am I yaaay xD anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter and as usual, don't forget to leave comments and kudos ^-^  
> ps: there's a guest appearance in this chapter and I hope you guys will like it ;)

“I can’t believe I kissed Jokaste,” said Jord for the millionth time.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “You said that already.”

“I told you she wants me bad. Did I tell you how I kicked that jerk’s  butt?.”

“Only a hundred times.”

Jord continued bouncing the rest of the walk from the parking lot to the building.

Apparently, he and Jokaste had hit it off last night after he saved her from some guy who was wouldn’t stop hitting on her. When Laurent found Jord at midnight, they were making out soundly in a corner of the room. Laurent still couldn’t get the disgusting image of them sucking on each other’s mouths out of his head. He shuddered as he thought of it now.

Finally, as if the thought had just crossed his mind, Jord said, “Wait, you never told me what Damen said when he found out it was you.”

“He didn’t say anything, because he didn’t find out.”

“You didn’t tell him? Why not?” Jord sounded astounded.

“Have you seen him? He’s like the most popular guy in school, okay? He’s probably expecting some Malibu Barbie, not Diner Boy.” Laurent sighed. “I’ll be doing him a favor if I just disappear.

“So you’re just gonna leave him hanging?” asked Jord, his tone a bit accusing.

“Come on, Jord. It’s not like he’ll pine for me. Trust me, he’s forgotten all about CinderEli by now.”

Laurent had barely finished talking when they stepped into the hallway, and his mouth fell open again. Neon yellow posters covered the walls of the hallway. On them was written:  _Have you seen CinderEli?_ in big bold letters. Underneath, it said in a smaller font: _Contact Damen Akielon!_ He even left his number on the posters.

Laurent grabbed one of them and was staring at it dumbfounded when Jord, shaking with laughter, said, “Yeah, he’s clearly forgotten all about you.”

Laurent didn’t answer him, he just crumbled the paper, threw it in a trashcan and started walking again.

Jord jogged to keep up with him. “Come on, he’s looking for you everywhere. Just tell him it was you.”

“Isn’t it better to cling to what might’ve been instead of ruining everything with reality?” said Laurent, turning his face towards the wall to hide it as he walked.

“You can’t hide from him forever,” said Jord in a would-be reasonable tone, as if he wasn’t doing the same thing as Laurent.

“Not forever. Just until graduation, where I’ll leave this place and never see him again,” said Laurent before turning to face Jord. “And what about you, Zorro? When are you gonna tell Jokaste?”

“Well,” Jord sounded like he was caught in a lie, “I’ve been thinking about doing just that, as a matter of fact.”

“Right.” Laurent narrowed his eyes at him. "So the day you tell Jokaste it was you, I’ll tell Damen it was me.”

“Deal,” said Jord, extending his hand.

Laurent shook it. “Deal.”

 

“Dude, why are you going through all this trouble for some guy?” asked Nik, even as he helped Damen hang more posters.

“He’s not just  _some guy_ , alright? He was real,” said Damen, and even he couldn’t deny his tone sounded dreamy.

“Real, like he had his own nose and all?” Nik laughed.

“No, real. As in, he had more in his mind than driving fancy cars and wearing designer clothes,” Damen said. Then he added more quietly, “He listens to me.”

Pallas, who had been carrying the posters while Nik and Damen hung them, joined the conversation. “Listens to you? Hey, bro I listen to you, okay? I feel your pai…” He trailed off as Lazar walked by, winking at him.

Damen patted his chest. “Yeah, you’re a great listener,” he said sarcastically.

Nik rolled his eyes at them. “Look, you found his cell phone. You just gotta get some clue from there.”

“Phone’s locked. I just keep getting messages like  _‘Come now’_ and  _‘I need you’._ ”

“Oh dude, that’s hot.”

“See, that’s what I thought. Till I got one that said  _‘You’re late for work’_ ,” Damen said. “They’re from his boss.”

“Dude, that’s hot  _and_  kinky, you know what I’m saying?” hollered Pallas.

Damen was just staring at him, eyebrows raised and thinking maybe he’s finally lost his mind, when he heard Aimeric’s voice coming through the speakers, “Damen Akielon was crowned homecoming prince. Big shocker there,” he murmured. “Didn’t see that one coming. But the real mystery, though, is who was his prince?”

“Look in the yearbook again,” said Nik finally. “Maybe you missed him”

“No, there’s no way I missed him. I mean, we had a connection,” said Damen, sighing as he turned the corner.

 

“I can’t believe you’re gonna tell her right now,” said Laurent as they crossed the hallway to the outdoor pool.

“Laurent, once she realizes that she’s found her Zorro, she’ll be thrilled,” said Jord in a lecturing tone.

Laurent just snorted and shook his head at him. When he looked up, he was startled to find Damen looking back at him. Their eyes met, and Laurent’s heart felt like it was doing somersaults. But before Laurent could do something stupid like smile at Damen, the latter looked away from him.

Laurent tried not to take Damen not recognizing him personally. He knew he must look very different from last night’s masked and suited up boy, after all.

He was still dwelling on that when they reached the swimming pool.

“Now watch and learn,” Jord mused as he walked towards the bench Jokaste and her friends were sitting on.

Laurent watched from a distance as Jord approached Jokaste. “Jokaste, baby, what’s up?”

Jokaste gave him a once over before replying, “And you are?”

“Yeah. Allow me to refresh your memory,” said Jord, his confidence unwavering. He took her hand and kissed the back of it as he whispered, “Zorro.”

Jokaste snatched her hand back, a look of utter disgust on her face. “Ew! More like zero.” She turned to look at her friends and asked, “Who’s he?”

Kyrina leaned closer to her and whispered, “That’s Jord, the guy you cheat off of in algebra.”

“The freak who hums show tunes?” she asked indignantly.

Kyrina and her other friend nodded. All the while, Jord just stood there, his eyes widening as he watched the conversation unfold.

Jokaste looked at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Listen, last night I had a very bad cold, and I drank a whole bottle of NyQuiI. I just wasn’t myself.”

Jord sounded wounded as he said, “But I thought we had a connection.”

“ _We_ ,” said Jokaste as if the word tasted bitter, “don’t have anything. _We_ are from completely different classes of human. So let’s just go back to our usual lives where we only mingle when I copy you in algebra, okay?” She didn’t even wait for a reply before leaving, her friends following after her like a flock.

When Jord came back to him, Laurent asked, “You okay?”

“If she thinks she’s still cheating off me, she’s crazy,” Jord said, stomping his foot hard on the wet ground. His foot slipped and he flailed his arms for a second, trying to regain his balance, before falling into the pool behind him.

“Jord!” Laurent cried out as he watched him fall.

“I’m intact,” said Jord, immerging from the water. “Can’t say the same about my dignity, though.”

Laurent laughed as he helped him out of the water and, to his surprise, Aimeric came running from across the pool, a dry towel in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing Jord the towel, his lips drawn up in a shy smile. “I thought you might need that.”

Jord seemed frozen, staring at Aimeric, barely moving his arm to take the towel.

Laurent looked at Aimeric too. He was dripping wet, his chin-length hair plastered to his neck and the sides of his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only bathing shorts, and, judging by the look in Jord’s eyes, that seemed to be all he could focus on.

“Thanks,” said Jord, finally removing his eyes from Aimeric’s chest and breaking the awkward silence. “But I don’t think it’s gonna be enough.” He gestured at his soaked clothes.

“You know what? There’s a blow-dryer we could use in the locker room. I need to dry up, too,” said Aimeric. “Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

They headed towards the locker rooms, Aimeric blushing deeply and Jord looking starstruck. Laurent didn’t need to be told to know he wasn’t invited to follow them.

 

After spending the day avoiding Damen, Laurent was not excited to go to work and spend the evening avoiding questions about Damen. Fortunately, he still had one more thing to do before his shift started.

_Nomad609: I need to know who you are…_

_Nomad609: I can’t take my mind off you. Please tell me who you are._

Laurent took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing,” he whispered as he started typing.

_Princetonboy818: My name is-_

“-Laurent!” a high-pitched voice cut Laurent off and he discarded the e-mail and closed his laptop.

 _That one more thing is finally here,_ he thought as he shouted, “I’m in the dining room!”

Nicaise came strutting into the room –Laurent had left the front door open, knowing the boy had no problem letting himself in- and flopped down on the seat next to Laurent. “I don’t want to study,” he said it like a command, not a whine.

“Well I get paid to tutor you so that’s what I’m going to do, like it or not.”

The boy narrowed his eyes at Laurent and crossed his arms on the table, slamming them down defiantly hard.

Nicaise was a middle-schooler Laurent had been tutoring since the beginning of the year. He was smart and sharp-minded, but only when he was in the mood to learn. However, in days like today when he was in no mood for studying, he was infuriating.

Laurent pretended to be keeping up with him only for the money, but the truth was that he had grown fond of the boy. He liked how his sharp mind allowed him to go from a spoiled brat to an intelligent young man in a matter of seconds. Laurent even had his doubts that maybe Nicaise wasn’t as mean as he pretended to be.

“So what are we doing today? Algebra?”

Seeing no way out of studying, Nicaise sighed and started taking his textbook out of his backpack.

 

Laurent busied himself with seventh-grade algebra for a while, his worries blissfully forgotten as he focused on simple calculations – _why couldn’t math stay this simple?_  he thought.  _And life, too, for that matter._ His life when he twelve years old had been so different from his current one that it sometimes felt like a dream. A blissful imagination that his mind had conjured up to ease the pain…

Laurent was ripped away from his reverie when his uncle stepped into the room. “Hello there,” he said, approaching the dining table. “And who are you?”

Nicaise looked up from his textbook. He blinked up at Stéphane, his long dark lashes sweeping his cheeks, and said, “I’m Nicaise.”

Laurent glared at his uncle, but Stéphane seemed to only have eyes for Nicaise. “I’m Stéphane,” he said, extending a hand for Nicaise to shake. “Laurent’s uncle.”

Before Nicaise could lift his hand up to shake Stéphane’s, Laurent spoke loudly, “He’s leaving soon and we’re not done studying. You’re wasting our time.”

Stéphane finally looked away from Nicaise to glare at him. Laurent held his eyes for a handful of seconds until Stéphane looked away from him with a scornful twist of the lips and directed his gaze back to Nicaise. “Alright,” he said finally, sounding disappointed. "I’ll see you again, Nicaise.”

As he watched his uncle leave, Laurent mumbled, “No, you won’t.”

He knew there was a sweetness and gentleness in Nicaise that he liked to hide under all that unpleasantness, and Laurent refused to let Stéphane anywhere near him, knowing he would rip it away. He felt strangely protective of Nicaise, wanting to shield him from any and all harm.

Laurent liked to think that’s how Auguste used to feel about him.

 

Damen tried not to let it get to him. He really did. But eventually, he couldn’t help but assume that he just wasn’t good enough. Maybe he wasn’t what Princeton Boy wanted after all. That was the only good explanation he could come up with as to why the boy didn’t want to see him again.

“Damianos!” the loud voice startled Damen out of his reverie. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” answered Damen as he bent down again to continue working on a costumer’s car.

“It’s not nothing. I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes without answer. Let me guess, you’re thinking  _‘Is USC really the right choice for me?’_ ,” asked Theomedes.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that a lot actually and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Damen’s father cut him off. “You’re making the right choice, alright?”

He said it so dismissively and then just walked away, leaving Damen in a boiling rage. Not only does Theomedes not allow him to make his own choices, but now he also won’t even allow him to complete his damn sentences.

Damen slammed down the wrench with which he was working and stomped his way to his car.

 

Laurent arrived at work late, having had to spend a long time convincing Nicaise he must go home and not to the diner with him like the boy wanted.

He hastily put his apron on and ran behind the counter, where he found Audin –the unpleasant new bartender- scowling at him. He hated working with Audin, but on the days when he was working behind the counter and not as a waiter, Laurent had to split the space with him. After all, they served everything here, from herbal tea to orange juice to whiskey, and Laurent, being underage, couldn’t serve alcoholic drinks. So that job fell on Audin.

On the plus side, being late meant everyone was already busy with work when Laurent came in, and no one could ask him about last night.

He was mixing a drink for a woman when he caught a glimpse of who had just sat down a few seats away from her. At first, Laurent thought he was hallucinating, just seeing him everywhere and in everyone. But after doing a double-take, he realized he was right; it was Damen Akielon.

Laurent stood frozen, unsure of what to do. He was afraid that if he walked up to Damen now, he might recognize him. Though, a small part of him hoped that maybe Damen had  _already_ recognized him and was here to talk to him.

Berenger noticed his hesitation and raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s him,” mouthed Laurent silently.

Berenger’s eyes widened. “Go over,” he mouthed back, pointing at Damen.

Laurent shook his head, but Berenger kept thrusting his head in Damen’s direction. He realized he had no choice anyways; he was going to have to talk to Damen sooner or later. Might as well rip off the band-aid.

Sighing, he approached Damen. “Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Can I get you something?”

His voice seemed to have snapped something in Damen, because the brunet slammed his hand on the counter and said angrily, looking up at Laurent, “Do you know what bugs me?”

“People taking your order?” asked Laurent hesitantly.

“No,” Damen said, making a reverse gesture with his fingers. “Talking people’s orders.”

“Why would  _you_  do that?” asked Laurent, laughing in disbelief.

“You don’t know my dad,” replied Damen, his tone a bit calmer. He grabbed a menu and frowned at it as he read, “Salmon Vodka? Who does that?”

Laurent chuckled. Raising his hands in the air, he said, “Don’t ask me.”

“I’ll have black coffee, please.”

Laurent had barely started pouring the coffee when Damen started speaking again, his tone a bit distant, “Do you ever feel like if you show someone who you really are, they won’t accept you?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Laurent, passing Damen the coffee cup. “Like being yourself isn’t good enough.”

“Right,” said Damen as he started sipping his coffee without adding sugar.

“Like you’re wearing a mask,” added Laurent.

Damen looked up at him, an almost overwhelming sincerity in his eyes. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“You just wanna be honest with this person and tell them,  _‘It’s me. I’m the one that you’ve been looking for’_ ,” continued Laurent, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Yeah,” Damen whispered.

Laurent took a deep breath. “Damen, I’m-”

“Laurent!” an approaching voice cut him off.

“One second,” Laurent shouted back.

But the owner of the voice was already at the counter. It was Jord, so high on his excitement that he didn’t notice Damen until he got up and said, “No, it’s cool. I gotta get back to work anyways.”

“Okay,” said Laurent, his disappointment apparent in his voice.

“Thank you very much, Laurent,” said Damen before he left, his lips curling into a sweet smile.

“You’re welcome,” Laurent replied, but Damen was already out of earshot. He turned to look at Jord and said menacingly, “This better be life or death.”

Jord’s excitement seemed to have amplified. His voice was wheezy when he asked, “What just happened? Did you tell him?”

“No,” sneered Laurent, “I was very rudely interrupted.”

Jord rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But dude, I have a date tomorrow. With Aimeric.”

“That’s awesome,” said Laurent. “I told you, you deserve better than Jokaste.”

“Hey.” Jord held up a finger warningly. “I don’t even want to hear her name when I’m talking about him.”

“Ooh someone’s got a hot date tomorrow,” cooed Laurent.

“Shut up,” said Jord, grinning from ear to ear.


	7. Chapter 7

Two days after their date, Jord was still talking non-stop about how perfect it was. Laurent heard the story so many times he could retell it in his sleep: Jord and Aimeric had gone to dinner, watched a movie and then went to the hill that looked over the valley, where they kissed and did other activities which Laurent was sure to cut Jord off before he told him too many details about.

Now, they sat together during lunch, feeding each other and giggling like children. They were still in the puppy-love stage, all goofy grins and shy smiles; and as awkward as it was for Laurent to be sitting with them now, he couldn’t deny they looked adorable, and he was incredibly happy for Jord.

He distracted himself with his new phone to avoid feeling like the world’s biggest third wheel. Damen hadn’t stopped e-mailing him in the past two days, and his phone was already swarming with messages from him.

_Nomad609: I can’t stand being apart from you…_

_Nomad609: Please text me back at least._

Laurent started typing those three words again, the ones he had typed what felt like a hundred times already, but had never sent:  _My name is…_

“Laurent, careful!”

Laurent barely had time to register Jord’s voice before he felt cold liquid spill on his lap, soaking his pants. “Goddamnit!” he cursed, looking at his tablemates.

Aimeric was half in Jord’s lap, one of his arms still around his neck and their faces so close together there was no doubt in what they were doing. Laurent was suddenly happy to have been too distracted to notice.

“I’m sorry,” said Aimeric, finally untangling himself from Jord. “It was my fault. I was clumsy and spilled the water.”

“Don’t worry about it,” sighed Laurent, rising from his seat.

Aimeric stood up too. “Let me help you with that.”

“Sure.”

“We’ll go to the bathroom,” he said to Jord. “You stay here and save our seats.”

“Okay,” said Jord.

In the bathroom, Laurent managed to dry most of the water off from both his pants and his phone. He wrapped it in a towel and placed it next to the sink as he said, “I need to use the bathroom for a second.”

“Sure,” said Aimeric, his voice weak and apologetic.

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it,” said Laurent, weirded out about how much Aimeric was overreacting.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, his voice still dripping with guilt.

Laurent went into the nearest bathroom stall, still wondering what was going on with Aimeric. When he came back, Aimeric didn’t say another word to him. So Laurent just freed his phone from the towel, pocketed it and left the bathroom.

Aimeric didn’t speak to Laurent again all the way back to the dining hall, and Laurent fought to keep from asking him if there was something bothering him.

When they arrived back at their table, they found Jord still waiting for them. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Laurent, while Aimeric remained silent.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence and when the bell rang, they each went to their separate classes.

 

 _I’m going to tell him._ Laurent decided, once and for all. He drove to the gas station, trying fruitlessly to ignore the hammering of his heart in his chest. He parked on the side of the building and went to look for Damen.

It only took him a few minutes to find him bent over the hood of a car. His skin was glistening with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his white tank top was streaked with black grease stains here and there.

Laurent took a deep breath before approaching him, and Damen must’ve sensed him there because he looked up at him.

“Hey,” said Damen, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

“Hey,” said Laurent. Then he froze. Now that it came down to it, he had no idea how to say this.

“Did you need something?” asked Damen, pointing at Laurent’s car.

“Sort of –I mean no actually –not exactly,” Laurent stuttered.  _What the hell?_ he thought. He hadn’t stuttered since he was in kindergarten.

Damen laughed. “You okay there? I mean you’re kinda confusing me.”

“No,” Laurent started again after catching his breath. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Damen stepped closer and said, “Okay.” He sounded curious.

Laurent finally looked him in the eye and said, “I’m Cin-”

“Damianos!” Laurent almost grunted in frustration at the interruption –the fourth one.

“I’m sorry, one sec,” said Damen before turning around and shouting back, “What is it?”

“Come over here,” said a deep voice Laurent didn’t recognize.

The voice must’ve belonged to someone Damen held in high esteem, because he obeyed immediately. He turned to look at Laurent and said, his tone apologetic, “I’m sorry I really have to go. Can this wait?”

“Yeah, sure,” answered Laurent, trying to sound nonchalant.

Damen smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll see around then.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Laurent watched him run back into the building before going to his car and driving back home, feeling deeply demoralized.

 

“What’s going on between you and your brother?” asked Theomedes the second Damen walked through the door.

His father was the last person Damen wanted to discuss his problems with Kastor with, so he only said, “Nothing, dad. We just had a little fight, it’s no big deal.”

“That’s not what Kastor says,” said Theomedes crossing his arms. “He says he’s moving out. He wouldn’t tell me why, but I hounded him until he snapped and told me I should ask you.”

Damen ran a nervous hand through his hair. Sighing, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to him.”

 

Damen hurried into Kastor’s room before even bothering to take a shower. He was confused about his feelings, caught between relief and guilt… and fear.

He found his brother in his room, folding clothes into a suitcase. “What are you doing?”

Kastor looked at him and for a second, Damen could swear he saw a flicker of an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint in his eyes before his face became a cold marble wall. “What does it look like I’m doing,  _brother_?” The last word was spoken like a curse rather than an endearment.

“You’re moving out?” asked Damen, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

“Yes. I’ve overstayed my welcome here,” he said, zipping his suitcase closed.

“What are you talking about?” asked Damen, his voice starting to sound frantic even to his own ears.

“Don’t pretend to care!” snapped Kastor. “Don’t pretend you give a damn about me!”

Damen froze. He didn’t know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind, “And what if I do care?”

“Don’t lie to yourself, brother,” said Kastor dismissively as he picked up his suitcase and walked out the door, leaving Damen confused and angry.

 

“Bonjour, Fighting Frogs. Here’s your daily drought reminder: Don’t hose your lawn, your car, or anybody else, for that matter. And remember, tickets for the big game go on sale…” Laurent tuned out Aimeric’s voice since he wasn’t particularly interested in football. Jord, however, seemed to be listening to Aimeric very intently. Laurent couldn’t help smiling fondly at his goofy expression before his thoughts wandered back to where they inevitably always did.

Yesterday, he had tried to tell Damen and failed, as usual. Laurent tried to figure out whether he should try again today or let it go. After all, the universe didn’t seem to be on their side, maybe they just weren’t meant to be. Laurent wasn’t one to give up easily, but he had many reasons to, at this point. He just wished there was some kind of sign…

Suddenly, Jord whipped his head around to look at Laurent and asked, “Are you listening to this?”

Laurent focused on Aimeric’s voice again and heard him say, “The message says:  _CinderEli, if you’re listening, your prince wants to rendezvous with you after the pep rally,_ ” Aimeric laughed. “Yeah, nothing like a pep rally to warm our prince up.”

“Are you going?”

Laurent thought about it for a second before finally saying, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Wait, really?” asked Jord, seeming genuinely surprised. “What changed your mind?”

“I talked to him the other day at the diner. And not as CinderEli. I talked to him as me, Laurent. And he didn’t hate me.”

“You should’ve told him right then and there.”

“I would have. If you hadn’t interrupted me,” said Laurent with a roll of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m telling him after the pep rally.”

“That’s great,” said Jord. “He’ll be so happy to finally meet you.”

“I sure hope so,” exhaled Laurent.

 

Laurent had never gone to a pep rally before, and he never thought he would since he couldn’t care less about football. Thus why he felt so anxious and out of place, standing there among all the students clapping and cheering for their team, some of them wearing all-green or even going as far as wearing frog costumes to demonstrate their school spirit.

“Who are we gonna beat?” the football coach shouted into the microphone.

“The Lancers!” came the enthusiastic cry from the audience.

“And when are we gonna beat them?”

“Friday!”

“And who’s gonna lead us to victory?”

“Damen!”

Laurent looked at Damen who was sitting in the front row with the rest of his team. He was looking around at the crowd and smiling modestly at their cheers. Laurent wondered whether he was looking for him, as anxious to meet his prince in a few minutes as Laurent was anxious to meet him.

The shouting stopped, and the coach cleared his throat before saying in a normal volume, “To help get us in the spirit, the cheerleaders have put together a skit.”

The audience started clapping as the cheerleaders streamed into the stage, Jokaste at their front. “Thank you,” she said into the microphone before she looked down at her manuscript and started reading, “Once upon a time, there was a big strong Fighting Frog.”

As she spoke, another cheerleader frog-jumped onstage, her cheeks painted dark green.

“He had a beautiful girlfriend,” continued Jokaste. “And his dad owned the biggest pond in the land. But he still wasn’t happy.”

The crowd collectively awed at that as the frog-cheerleader started fake-sobbing.

“If only he could find a prince, then he could kiss him and turn him into a prince, too. And then they would run away together.”

Now a boy was brought onstage. He was wearing a white suit, a comical version of Laurent’s costume at the dance. He was masked, making Laurent unable to recognize him. Still, the sight of him sent shivers down Laurent’s spine; there was obviously more to this play than just lifting school spirit.

“One night, after the slimy frog ditches his super-hot, senior-poll-most-popular girlfriend, he meets his prince.”

The frog and the masked prince faced each other onstage and bowed comically, causing the crowd to erupt into wild laughter.

“Alas, it turned out that our frog not only had a secret identity, but also had a secret e-mail relationship with a pen pal named Princeton Boy.”

“This isn’t good,” Laurent distantly heard Jord say, but he couldn’t focus on him. His eyes were on Damen who looked caught somewhere between fury and misery.

“ _Dear Princeton Boy_ ,” started the girl in the frog costume, “ _I can’t wait till we finally meet. You’re the only one who understands the real me. The man who doesn't want to play USC football. But who wants to be at Princeton, with you_.”

Jokaste and Damen exchanged a look. It was so full of anger and hatred that it felt out of place on Damen’s face, making Laurent feel like he couldn’t recognize him.

Laurent saw a man –who was probably Damen’s father based on their resemblance- lean over to whisper something in Damen’s ear, the latter only shaking his head in answer without breaking eye-contact with Jokaste.

“ _Dear Nomad_ ,” started the boy in the white suit, his voice sounding a bit remorseful compared to that of Jokaste, which had been joyous through this whole thing, “ _I want you to know who I am, but I'm scared that you'll reject me._ ”

The crowd awed mock-sympathetically again at that.

“I can’t believe they’re reading my e-mails,” said Laurent, shaking his head in disbelief. He looked at Jord, only to find him pale as stone, staring shell-shocked at the boy in white.

Laurent pulled him by the arm, heading for the courtyard’s exit. “Let’s go.”

“But our prince had a secret too,” continued Jokaste, raising her voice. “He wasn’t royalty at all, but a geek, a loser, a servant boy.”

Another cheerleader walked onstage, wearing an all-too-familiar diner uniform. She held dishes laden with food in each hand. Someone pushed her, and she dropped the contents of the plates all over herself, prompting the crowd to start laughing again.

“And who, may you ask, is this imposter?” asked Jokaste, turning to fully face the crowd. “Give it up for the pretend prince, Diner Boy, Laurent DeVere!” she finished, extending her arm to point at Laurent who was still struggling to make his way through the crowd.

Laurent froze when he heard his name. He looked around to find all the eyes in the crowd on him, but his eyes were searching for one person only. He found Damen still in his seat, turning around to look behind him.

Their eyes finally met, and through the crowd’s chanting of the words _Diner Boy_ , Laurent found himself deaf and blind to anything but Damen. He only saw him, a frown on his face as he looked at Laurent for a few seconds that lasted what felt like a lifetime for Laurent, before lowering his eyes to the ground and turning back around in his seat.

The world came back into focus, jolting Laurent out of his trance. He felt Jord’s hand tugging on his arm, trying to lead him away from the crowd that was still chanting relentlessly.

As they crossed the courtyard and made their way to the front of the school where Laurent’s car was parked, Laurent felt something hot and wet streak down his cheek. He lifted his hand to wipe it away, only for another tear to replace it.

He was crying. Actually crying, with tears streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall and his whole body twitching in an attempt to suppress his sobs as he sat in the passenger seat of his dead brother’s car. Laurent hadn’t cried since Auguste’s death.

 

Laurent didn’t notice the car had stopped until Jord’s hand came to rest on top of his fidgeting fingers on his lap. “You gonna be okay?”

Laurent nodded his head; he felt like there was a lump in his throat taking away his ability to speak.

“Do you want me to go in with you?”

Laurent looked around. They were parked in his driveway, the too-big, too-cold house staring back at them, the windows of its empty rooms winking at them in the sunlight, reminding Laurent that he didn’t have anyone who cared about him there. Jord must’ve driven them here, but Laurent had been too lost in thought to notice.

He shook his head no.

“Okay,” said Jord gently, giving Laurent’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll walk home then. You’ll call if you need me, right?”

Laurent cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

Jord gave him a sad smile before getting out of the car and walking away. Laurent watched Jord leave, trying to gather the strength to go inside.

After minutes of sitting there, paralyzed, Laurent finally carried himself into his house and up the stairs. He had barely finished locking his bedroom door before tears started swelling in his eyes again. He threw himself on his bed and started crying again, sobbing freely now that he was alone.

 

Laurent was jolted awake by the thundering sound of a fist knocking on his door. For a blissful moment, he couldn’t remember why he was sleeping when it was still light out, why his pillow was soaked, or why someone was knocking on the door so loudly.

But that only lasted a second; memories of what happened that afternoon came rushing back into his mind, threatening to bring more tears into his eyes.

“Laurent!” a voice called from behind his door.

“What?” asked Laurent, walking towards it while wiping away the remains of his tears.

“Open the door,” Stéphane commanded.

Laurent stilled with his hand on the doorknob. “Leave me alone.”

“But sweetheart,” said Stéphane, “you’ve got a letter from Princeton.”

The doorknob rattled loudly as Laurent unlocked the door as fast as he could. He snatched the letter from his uncle’s hands and ripped it open, his heart sinking when he read its content.

_We regret to inform you that your application to Princeton University has been rejected…_

“What does it say?” asked Stéphane.

“I didn’t get in,” answered Laurent, his voice sounded weak even to his own ears and he could feel tears starting to pool in his eyes again.

“Oh, no! But you studied so hard,” said Stéphane, not sounding genuine in the slightest. He put his hands on Laurent’s drooping shoulders. Laurent stiffened at the touch, but didn’t have enough strength to push them off.

“Laurent, I’m so heartbroken,” he continued. “Life can be so unfair. But look at the bright side, you have a job at the diner for the rest of your life.”

Laurent looked up at him. He had been struggling to hide his heartache, but for a split second, he let his emotions show. That had been the last straw; anger and grief mixed together and made him throw Stéphane’s hands off him and slam the door in his face so hard that the sound made Laurent’s ears ring.

He locked the door again and reclaimed his earlier position, tears already rolling down his cheeks as he ripped the letter to pieces and settled in the bed, crying himself to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why but I'm not a fan of this chapter :/ I tried editing it but I'm still not satisfied with it... Anyways I hope you guys liked it better than I do and don't forget to leave kudos and comments ^-^


	8. Chapter 8

Laurent came to a decision.

Having gone to sleep so early in the afternoon, he had woken up in the middle of the night, his eyes stinging and swollen from crying but fully rested. Unable to go back to sleep or to rid his mind of the image of Damen turning away from him, he had opened his closet and pulled out a dust-covered box he hadn’t dared disturb since Auguste’s death.

He brushed away the thick layer of dust that had accumulated over the years and opened the box. Inside it was a collection of things that reminded Laurent of his brother: a framed picture of the two of them –its glass cracked from the earthquake, Laurent’s baseball bat from when Auguste used to play with him, the storybook he always read to Laurent from…

Laurent held up the book. Looking at it for the first time since his brother’s death, he was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions that he had kept bottled up in his denial breaking out. Panic, anguish, sorrow and despair mixed with anger and frustration over everything that had happened to him today –everything that had happened to him since that damned earthquake- to create a whirlwind of emotions that was too much for Laurent.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown the book at his bookshelf across the room. The impact caused a number of other books to topple to the ground with it. As Laurent sat on the ground, watching the books cascading down his bookshelf, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks.

Laurent didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, too absorbed in his pain and weeping to allow his mind to relax. But as he watched the sun rise, he dried his eyes and came to a decision.

He was going to carry on with his life as if nothing had happened. He would go to school, act as he normally did every day, avoid Damen if possible, and that was that. _No need to overthink_ , he tried to convince himself. He would be finished with high school and in college in a few short months. And so what if he didn’t get into Princeton? There were plenty of other schools –better schools, even- that would be thrilled to have him.

He kept repeating that to himself like a mantra as he waited for Jord to step out of his house.

Laurent’s fantasy of pretending nothing had happened didn’t last long though, because the second Jord got into the passenger seat, he looked at Laurent and said, his voice uncharacteristically low, “I didn’t think you’d come pick me up today.”

Laurent frowned and asked, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Jord looked down at his lap where his fingers were fidgeting. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

Laurent waved him off. He tried to sound as nonchalant as he could as he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already forgotten all about that.”

“No, I know you haven’t,” insisted Jord. “I just want you to know, I had nothing to do with it. I had no clue, I swear.”

“No clue about what?” asked Laurent. “Did you think I would suspect you of helping Jokaste?”

Jord looked confused at that, his brows drew together in a frown as he said, “No. I meant about Aimeric.”

“What about Aimeric?”

“You didn’t recognize him, did you?” asked Jord, realization finally dawning on his features.

It struck Laurent then. The ‘prince’ in the white suit was Aimeric. That’s why he had sounded so familiar. Laurent remembered leaving his phone with him when he had gone to the bathroom, never suspecting that Aimeric would look through his e-mails.

He looked at Jord, who was pale-faced and refused to meet Laurent’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Laurent said gently.

Jord’s head whipped up at that. With a loud, humorless laugh he said, “ _You’re_ sorry? Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “I’m not apologizing. I’m –expressing sympathy. Besides,” he added with a small smile, “I don’t blame you.”

“You don’t? I mean it’s my fault he got close enough to get his hands on your e-mails. It was stupid of me to think he was hanging out with us so much because he wanted to spend time with me.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.” Laurent rolled his eyes again. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. He was a sneaky bastard and you deserve better than him.”

“I guess,” said Jord, but his voice was weak and full of uncertainty.

As they drove to school, Laurent thought that maybe his plan may not be as easy to stick to as he had expected.

 

Damen wanted nothing more than to go talk to his prince today.

He also wanted nothing more than to stay at home and avoid going to school for as long as possible.

He forced himself out of bed and into his uniform, all the while trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. He had thought that finally finding out who Princeton Boy was would make him ecstatic with joy. Instead, the reveal felt underwhelming.

Perhaps it was because of the way he found out, public and embarrassing, his secrets being exposed in front of the whole school and, more importantly, in front of his father, making him unable to react properly.

Or perhaps it was because he thought he should have known. Damen had never suspected Laurent to be Princeton Boy, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Their conversation at the diner, at the gas station before they were interrupted…

At the pep rally, however, Damen had been so surprised upon finding out his prince’s identity that his mind froze, unable to process what was happening or decide what to do.

It had taken a minute for the wheels in Damen’s mind to start turning properly, but it had been a minute too late. When Damen had looked over his shoulder a second time, Laurent was no longer standing behind him.

 

Walking down the hallway, Damen caught himself scanning the students’ faces, looking for charming blue eyes. His efforts were fruitless for a several minutes until he spotted the back of a familiar blond head. He approached him and was able to confirm that it was Laurent when he turned to face the row of lockers.

As he fidgeted with his locker’s lock, another student was talking to Laurent animatedly, looking almost nervous. Damen watched him from a distance; Laurent’s brows were drawn together in concentration as he worked the locker open, his fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before returning to the lock.

Damen’s eyes lingered on his fingers, long and graceful as they turned the lock. He couldn’t help but admire the smooth, porcelain-like skin of Laurent’s hand, wondering what it would look like held in Damen’s hand, their contrasting colors complementing each other beautifully.

 _I want to kiss his hand,_ Damen caught himself thinking. _I want to kiss more than just his hand._

“This is ridiculous,” Damen murmured as he approached Laurent.

But he only made it a few steps before a figure blocked his way. “What’s up?” Nik greeted.

Damen looked around; Nik had just walked up to him with Pallas and Lazar who were holding hands. “Hey,” he answered, his eyes searching for Laurent again.

Nik followed his line of sight and spotted Laurent. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Ah, your prince.”

Pallas and Lazar turned to look in Laurent’s direction too. “Bad luck, my friend,” said Lazar, whistling under his breath.

“What are you talking about?” asked Damen.

“About Laurent,” answered Lazar, pointing at him with his free hand. “He’s ice-cold, man. You know, we’re lab partners, so I tried flirting with him once. He turned me down so harshly I was afraid to talk for the rest of the period. Now I dread chemistry because I have to sit next to him.”

“He’s not cold,” Damen said, rolling his eyes. “You just suck at flirting and probably said something too dumb for him to find attractive.”

Lazar gasped in mock affront. “I’m hurt, Damen.”

“Well I think you’re a great flirt,” said Pallas, a blush staining his cheeks red.

“Why, thank you,” said Lazar, giving Pallas a peck on the lips that quickly escalated to something more intense.

Damen looked at Nik, both of them rolling their eyes in sync. “So are you gonna talk to him?” asked Nik.

“I was on my way to do just that actually,” said Damen.

But when he looked back in Laurent’s direction, he was no longer there. Damen scanned the crowd for him, but there was no sign of a blond head anywhere.

 

Laurent did his best to ignore all the different looks he was being sent by his schoolmates: mockery, scorn, pity… But the one that eventually made him snap was from Jord.

“Stop looking at me like that!” he snapped at Jord after tolerating his pitiful glances for half of their free period.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve just been diagnosed with a deadly disease.”

“If you were diagnosed with a deadly disease I wouldn’t be sitting next to you,” Jord pointed out. “It could be contagious.”

Laurent rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the math problem he had been unable to solve for the past half-hour. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jord glance at him sadly one last time before returning to his own work.

Laurent had barely put his pen to the paper before he felt someone standing over him. His heart lurched, thinking it was Damen finally coming to talk to him. He looked up and was met with brown eyes. But they weren’t the ones he had spent the night dreaming about, they were a shade lighter, and they weren’t warm like Laurent remembered them to be, instead they were full of uncertainty and guilt.

“Can we talk?” Aimeric asked, tugging on Laurent’s arm to pull him up.

Laurent yanked his arm away from him angrily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do,” he said. “Just give me a minute to explain myself.”

“I don’t want an explanation,” snapped Laurent. “I want you to get the hell away from me. And from Jord.”

Aimeric’s eyes widened in an expression of hurt that almost made Laurent feel guilty –almost. Despite the dismissal, he took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I want you to know I really am. I never wanted to help Jokaste, but she threatened me. I don’t know how, but she has information about my father. She knows secrets about his business, things that could get him in a lot of trouble. And she threatened to tell her father and have him make it common knowledge. That would’ve _destroyed_ my father’s reputation and his business.”

His voice rose an octave as he spoke, and it crossed Laurent’s mind that he looked like he was barely holding back tears. “I tried to stop her. I swear, I did everything I could, but nothing worked. She somehow suspected you were CinderEli and wouldn’t drop the subject until she had proof. I think she wanted to hurt Damen, and she wouldn’t stop until she succeeded.”

When he stopped talking, silence fell on their table for several seconds in which Laurent felt the tension like a physical presence. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jord look down at his hands again, unable to meet Aimeric’s eyes, and heard Aimeric make a small sound that sounded almost like a whimper.

Aimeric finally broke the silence by saying –this time addressing Jord, his eyes willing him to look at him, “I want you to know that I never knew this would happen when I started hanging out with you. A couple days ago, when I spilled water on Laurent, that was when she first told me. I didn’t want to help her. I even considered breaking up with you just so I could tell her I had no way to get close to Laurent anymore. So I wouldn’t have to betray you.”

Another silence followed his words, but this time, Aimeric didn’t wait for a response. He started to walk away, but only made it a few steps before stopping to look at them over his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said to Laurent, then looked at Jord, who had finally looked up. When their eyes met, he added, his voice more pained than Laurent had ever heard, “I’m sorry, Jord.”

As he walked away, Jord stared after him, the expression on his face unreadable even to Laurent who had known him since they were children. It was a mixture of hurt, anger –and longing.

 

Somehow, Laurent had managed to avoid telling the diner staff too much about what had happened at the dance: they danced, had fun, and then Laurent had decided it was only meant to last one night and therefore, did not to reveal his identity. Paschal and Berenger had been disappointed, but did not pressure him about it.

That had kept anyone from asking any questions for the past three days. Today however, as Laurent was viciously scrubbing the floor, –a task he didn’t have to do but indulged in nevertheless because it helped relieve his frustration at his situation and his guilt at Jord’s- he felt hands gently stopping his arm’s movement.

He looked up to find Paschal trying to haul him up. Laurent stood up and tried to brush the dust off his apron.

“Laurent, what are you doing?” asked Paschal.

“Trying to get these floors cleaned,” said Laurent. He had tried to sound casual, but his voice sounded miserable even to his own ears.

“What I meant is,” said Paschal, sounding concerned, “what are you doing with your life?”

“I’m Diner Boy,” Laurent snapped. “I’m doing what diner boys do, Paschal.”

“Oh honey,” cooed Paschal as his hand flew to Laurent’s arm, rubbing at it soothingly, “what’s gotten into you? You don’t even realize how blessed you are.”

Laurent tried to squirm away from him, but Paschal’s grip was too firm, despite his gentle touch.

“Look,” Paschal continued, “you’ve got a whole family behind you.” He gestured behind him at the employees; Berenger, Vannes and Herode were all looking at him now, their expressions full of affection and fondness.

“We have faith in you,” said Berenger, stepping closer to Laurent and Paschal.

“And you gotta have faith in yourself,” finished Paschal.

Laurent tried to let the words sink in. Faith seemed impossible now that he had lost everything he held dear, all because he wasn’t good enough.

He didn’t get into Princeton, because he wasn’t smart enough. A wave of self-loathing washed over Laurent every time he thought about that; not only did he shatter his own dream, but also Auguste’s. He couldn’t help but imagine his brother’s disappointment at him for his failure…

He lost Nomad, because he wasn’t enough for him. Laurent had tried so hard not to dwell on that, but he couldn’t stop telling himself over and over that it was his own fault for putting so much faith in him, for pouring his heart out to him and thinking Nomad cherished him the way Laurent did him, for not trusting his instincts when they told him Nomad wouldn’t want anything to do with him once he found out who he was…

And he had been right.

Frustrated, Laurent’s hands moved on their own accord, balled into fists and punched the wall. His knuckles ached, but the pain was welcome, its sharp feeling cutting through the fog of confusion and sadness in Laurent’s mind.

No customers had arrived yet, so Laurent’s outburst could have gone unnoticed had it not been for the painting that was knocked to the ground as the barely-holding-on wallpaper peeled off under the impact of the punch. Laurent barely had time to leap back a step before it fell in front of him.

“That’s gonna come out of your paycheck,” Laurent heard a voice say. He turned around and was not surprised to find Stéphane standing at the entrance of the restaurant, eyeing the peeling wallpaper in disdain. “And cover up those stupid words.”

Laurent looked up at the damage he had made. A patch of the wallpaper had been peeled off and underneath it, the wall was a cream brown color covered in words that were all too familiar to Laurent.

“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game,” he read in a whisper.

It was what Auguste had written himself on the wall back when he owned the diner, before red wallpaper came and covered his words.

“Alright,” said Stéphane as he turned towards the exit again, “I have work to get to. Laurent, I need you to work a late shift tonight.”

“No.”

Stéphane stopped dead in his tracks and turned around again. “Excuse me?” he asked in disbelief.

“You heard me,” said Laurent firmly, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his accord, having waited so long to be said. “I quit. I quit this job. I quit this _family_. _And_ I’m moving out.”

Laurent could hear gasps of surprise coming from behind him, but he was too overwrought to pay attention to them.

Stéphane barked a humorless laugh. “And where will you live?”

Laurent hesitated. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, had only thought of being free from Stéphane and his control. He felt his cheeks start to heat with shame, realizing he was cornered.

He was still glaring silently at his uncle when a voice cut through his train of thought. “With me,” said Paschal, stepping closer to Laurent and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You can’t just walk out on me,” said Stéphane, clearly struggling to stay calm.

A new rush of confidence hit Laurent at Paschal’s support and helped him say what had been on the tip of his tongue for years. “You know what, Stéphane? You can mess with my house and my money; and you can even mess with my brother’s diner. But you’re through messing with me.”

Laurent ripped off his apron and threw it in Stéphane’s face as he stormed out of the diner. On his way out, a voice called back for him.

“Wait up, Laurent!”

Laurent turned to find Paschal taking off his apron too.

“You take one more step, and you’re fired,” said Stéphane, holding up a finger threateningly.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” said Paschal. “Because I quit, too. And you know what? The only reason why I put up with you all these years is because of that boy. Now that he’s free of you, there’s nothing stopping me from kicking your butt,” he added, cracking his knuckles.

A look of fear crossed Stéphane’s face as Paschal approached him. The cook made a show of swinging his arm back and packing a punch. But before he could land the blow, Laurent called out to him, “Paschal, don’t. He’s not even worth it.”

Paschal’s eyes darted between the two of them before he finally stepped back and said, “You know what? You’re right.”

He joined Laurent, but they had barely taken one step before Laurent heard another voice say, “You know what? I quit too.”

Laurent turned around to see Berenger taking off his apron and throwing it on the floor. He had barely joined Laurent and Paschal before a stream of other people followed his lead. Vannes, Herode and even Guion all took off their aprons and repeated the same phrase to Stéphane, who looked stricken and shell-shocked. Together, they marched out of the restaurant and into the cool night breeze of the street.

Standing there among his friends, looking at their proud smiles and contemplating a future where he was free of Stéphane, Laurent felt blessed and invincible.

Still riding that dizzying high, he decided there was one more thing he needed to do tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

The boys’ locker room was exactly what Laurent had in mind when he thought of one. It was incredibly messy –shirts, uniforms and even underwear strewn all over the ground and the benches. But the untidiness was overshadowed by the disgusting stench of sweat and dirty laundry that was apparently an unavoidable presence even in the locker room of a school as prestigious as theirs.

As Laurent made his way through row after row of lockers, he heard wolf whistles rising from every row he passed. He shot some of the whistlers hard glares that had them physically recoiling, before the calls became too frequent that he couldn’t possibly scare all of them at once with a single glance, no matter how threatening it was.

Laurent walked on, shoulders squared and head held high, doing his best to ignore the whistles and the cries of _‘Hey, Diner Boy’._ The claustrophobic atmosphere caused by the awful smell and the steam of the showers only made Laurent more uncomfortable, feeling like a sheep among wolves. He made sure not to let that show as he crossed the room, his eyes scanning the crowd of half-naked boys.

Turning a corner, he found Damen hunched over on a bench, his back to Laurent. As Laurent drew nearer, Damen’s friends noticed him and fell silent after they had been discussing how difficult tonight’s game would be. Taking note of his friends’ stunned silence, Damen followed their line of sight, twisting around to look behind him, and Laurent was able to pinpoint the exact second Damen saw him, his eyes widening in surprise as he stood up abruptly.

“Laurent,” said Damen in a surprised voice. “Look, I know you think I’m just some-”

“Coward?” Laurent cut him off. “Phony?”

“Okay, just listen-”

“No. You listen,” Laurent raised his voice to cut him off again. “You turned out to be exactly who I thought you were. I never pretended to be somebody else, it’s been me all along. And it was me who was hurt in front of everybody.”

Damen seemed speechless, his mouth unable to do anything but open and close repeatedly like a fish.

“Look, I didn’t come here to yell at you, okay?” said Laurent after taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I came to tell you that I know what it feels like to be afraid to show who you are. I was. But I’m not anymore. And the thing is, I don’t care what people think about me, because I believe in myself. And I know that things are gonna be okay. But even though I now have no family, no job and no money for college, it’s  _you_  that I feel sorry for.”

The words left Laurent’s mouth in a rush. Once he had started talking, he couldn’t stop himself. But even though he hadn’t thought his words through, he knew they were truthful. He might have lost everything, but he had gained the most important thing there was: freedom. Freedom from Stéphane, yes. But also freedom to be himself, no more hiding or pretending to be someone else to please his uncle or anyone else. Including Damen.

“Heads up, yo. Five minutes,” Lazar cried as he turned the corner. His eyes widened when he spotted Laurent, but he didn’t utter another word.

“I’m coming,” Damen shouted back, his voice angrier than Laurent expected.

“I know the guy who sent those e-mails is somewhere down inside of you,” said Laurent, his voice caught somewhere between firm determination and sad weariness. “But I can’t wait for him, because waiting for you is like waiting for rain in this drought. Useless and disappointing.”

With that, Laurent turned around and headed back out, leaving Damen bristling behind him. He called out Laurent’s name once, but Laurent ignored him and walked on. As he neared the exit, he thought he might’ve heard something similar to the sound of a locker being punched –hard.

He had barely closed the locker room’s door, still taking deep breaths to steady himself when someone came running towards him.

“Laurent,” said Jord, his voice breathless from running.

“Jord? What are you doing here?”

“Paschal called and told me where you might be. I thought you could use a friend.” He looked at Laurent for a long moment before adding, “He told me what you did. Back in the diner. I’m so proud of you, Laurent.”

When Laurent didn’t answer, uncertain of what he was supposed to say, Jord spread his arms wide and motioned inwards with his hands as he said, “Come here, you.”

Slowly, Laurent stepped closer and let himself be engulfed in a bear hug. He and Jord weren’t really the hugging type. Actually, Laurent couldn’t remember the last hug he had gotten since Auguste died. Which is why he hesitated at first, his spine and arms stiff. But Jord’s remained pliant and comfortable and eventually, Laurent was able to give in and relax onto them, absorbing the warmth and safety he felt there. Things he hadn’t felt since his brother was around to hug him.

When they pulled away, Laurent looked up to find Jord smiling at him proudly. “Your uncle and Damen, all in one day. How do you feel?”

Laurent huffed out a laugh. Returning the smile, he said, “I’ll let you know when I can catch my breath.”

Jord chuckled and patted Laurent’s back.

“Let’s do something tonight,” said Laurent, desperate for a distraction from his whole life turning upside down –again.

Jord rubbed his neck nervously. “Well, I was actually thinking about going to the game,” he said slowly before his expression became more serious and he hastily added, “but I totally understand if you don’t wanna do that.”

Laurent turned the thought over in his head for a second before saying, “No, I’ll go.”

“Really? You’ll go to the game?” asked Jord, clearly very surprised.

“Yeah. I can handle it now,” said Laurent, meaning to convince both Jord and himself. “It’ll be our first and last. Besides, if I don’t go, who else is gonna explain the game to you?”

“Alright,” said Jord as he threw an arm around Laurent’s shoulder and started walking them towards the football field.

“Did you actually run here all the way from your house?” Laurent asked as he pushed the heavy door open.

“No,” answered Jord. “I ran from the nearest bus station.”

A smile tugged on Laurent’s lips as they stepped out onto the school’s playground. The closest bus station, he knew, was miles away from school.

 

Trying to tamper down his anger, Damen made his way to the field with the rest of his team. He knew he had no reason to be angry with Laurent, and he wasn’t. He was angry with himself for ruining what might’ve been the best thing to ever happen to him, with cowardness and stupidity.

It didn’t help that as soon as he put foot on the field, his eyes went to Laurent, easily spotting him in the stands, taking a seat next to the same guy he had been talking to this morning. Damen couldn’t take his eyes off him even as he heard the crowd cheering and applauding, the coach hyping them up and praising their team. He felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw the brunet lean over to say something in Laurent’s ear that made him laugh. With a new wave of bitterness, Damen realized he had no right to be jealous over Laurent –he’d had his chance and he screwed it up.

“Damen!” Nik’s voice sounded infuriated. “Pay attention.”

The team was practicing by passing each other the ball, stopping when it was Nik’s turn to throw it to Damen. “Sorry,” said Damen, accepting the ball from him.

Nik sighed. “Go talk to him after the game. Fix things with him.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Damen truthfully. “I’m not even sure there _is_ a way to fix this.”

Nik opened his mouth to speak –Damen was actually anticipating his reply, hoping for a helpful piece of advice- when Theomedes interrupted him. “Damianos!” he shouted as he made his way towards them. “This is the big one. You play well today, and your future at USC is set.” He patted Damen’s chest encouragingly. “You stay focused and win it. Everyone is counting on you, alright?”

Damen didn’t even have time to reply before he heard the coach crying his father’s name enthusiastically, and Theomedes headed towards him without a second glance at Damen.

Damen flung the ball as hard as he could at Nik, not missing the pitying look in his eyes before he passed the ball to Lazar.

 

The ball is kicked, flying above the players’ heads for a few seconds before landing in one of their grips, and the clock starts its countdown.

Unfamiliar with football, Laurent gave up trying to understand the rules within the first five minutes, opting instead for following the ball’s movement and the crowd’s response to understand who was winning.

Inevitably, the ball fell into Damen’s hands. Laurent watched him move with grace and skill as he passed it to a teammate, his whole body twisting to put all his force into the throw. The green-clad part of the crowd erupted into cries of triumph as the ball landed in the player’s hands. On the leaderboard, a point was added to _home._

From that point on, Laurent’s eyes didn’t stray from Damen. He watched as he chased the ball, scored point after point and gave his team enthusiastic pep talks during breaks. It was hard to see him as Nomad, in that moment. He looked in every way the football captain that he was, one who lived and breathed for the sport, not one who thought of it as something holding him back from his dreams.

The game continued, seeming to drag endlessly for Laurent. He looked to his right and found Jord having the time of his life. He had somehow acquired a green flag and was waving it and cheering with the rest of the crowd as the voice coming from the speakers announced, “The clock is stopped with nine seconds left in the game. The Frogs need one touchdown to win.”

When Jord caught Laurent looking at him with raised eyebrows, he waved the flag in his face shouting, “I love football!”

Laurent laughed and stopped himself from reminding Jord that this was his first game ever. At least one of them was having a good time.

Each of the two teams gathered in a circle to discuss their strategy for the final few seconds. From where he stood, Laurent could see Damen talking up his team with determination, the air between them seeming to crackle with electricity from the excitement and tension.

All the eyes in the crowd were on the team’s captain, everyone anticipating the next few seconds, which would be the most thrilling of the game. Noticing who held the audience’s attention, the cheerleaders started chanting his name as they bounced and waved their pompoms.

It didn’t take long for the crowd to enthusiastically join the chant. “Damen! Damen! Damen!”

Laurent felt the weight of Jord’s gaze on him, and he didn’t need to see him to know he was probably looking at him pityingly. He refused to let his discomfort show. Instead, Laurent mimicked the rest of the audience and stood up. He didn’t join their chanting, though. That would be too much.

 Laurent’s eyes found Damen again. His head was still bent into the circle his team formed, speaking rapidly and seriously. Among the crowd’s cheers and the unfamiliarity of football, Laurent could almost lose himself in the moment, his mind wandering to an imaginary world where everything was different and he was happy. In that world, maybe football wouldn’t be so unfamiliar. Maybe it would part of his daily routine: cheering Damen on during practices and games, which would end in Damen kissing him happily after a victorious game.

Of course, in such a perfect world, Auguste would still be alive, teasing Laurent endlessly for being so love-struck and giving halfhearted threats to Damen about breaking Laurent’s heart even though he and Damen would get along perfectly…

The cheering grew louder and with it, Laurent’s melancholy grew more intense. “Jord,” he said finally, “I thought that I could handle this, but I really can’t. I’m gonna go.”

Jord’s eyes shifted between Laurent and the football field, looking torn between finishing the game and leaving with Laurent.

Laurent decided to make it easier for him –and for himself since he would rather have some time alone- by saying, “Let me know how it ended tomorrow, okay?”

Jord nodded. “Okay.”

Laurent started making his way out the stands as fast as he could, pushing past people both standing and sitting, which made his progress unbearably slow. Through it all, he made sure to restrain himself from looking back at the field.

_“Damen! Damen! Damen!”_

The chanting grew louder, but Damen could barely hear it through the pounding of his heart and the rushing of his blood. He may not be very passionate about football anymore, but it was important for his team to win this game: the winning team would be advancing to the playoffs for the state championship, which meant he had to give it all he had.

It was almost time to return to the game. Damen turned his head to the left to look at his coach and see if he had any last words before they hit the field again, and that’s when he saw him: Laurent, struggling out of the crowd and into the stands’ exit.

All his thoughts about football were obliterated as Damen was taken back to that first night he had met Laurent and almost had him walk away from him. The fear of losing him overwhelmed Damen again. Except this time it was amplified, a hundred times stronger, and threatening to tear Damen’s heart in half.

He looked around at his teammates, their faces scrunched in concentration inside their helmets as they waited for his final words of encouragement. Shaking his head, Damen made his decision.

Heart laden with equal measure guilt and fear, Damen stood up, took off his helmet and said, “I’m sorry, boys.” before taking off running to the stands-

-only to be stopped by Theomedes’ hand pulling him by the arm. “What are you doing?” he asked angrily.

“I’m out of here,” answered Damen, trying to tug his arm free.

“What?” Theoomedes sounded so angry Damen actually considered telling him to watch his blood pressure. “You’re throwing away your dream.”

“No, dad. I’m throwing away _yours_ ,” said Damen smugly, the relief of finally saying those words making him feel light as a feather and giving him the extra boost of confidence he needed to finish what he’d just started.

Turning around one last time, Damen spotted Nik smiling encouragingly at him. “It’s your game now,” said Damen, tossing him his helmet. “Go get ‘em.”

As he ran up the stands’ stairs, Damen distantly heard his father calling after him, the announcer announcing the change in players, his coach screaming at him, the crowd still cheering his name…

But none of that mattered as he finally reached the row where Laurent was still struggling to reach the aisle. He watched him move, not once lifting his head to look anywhere but where he was stepping. The anticipation built in Damen’s heart and stomach. He had never been as nervous his whole life as he was in those last seconds that it took Laurent to reach him.

They were facing each other when Laurent finally looked up at him, his eyes widening in surprise the second he recognized Damen, their blue still just as bright in the dark night as it had always been.

“Damen? What are you doing?” Laurent asked, blinking rapidly.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Damen leaned in slowly, giving Laurent time to pull away. When he didn’t, Damen brought his hands up, cupping Laurent’s face between them as he connected their lips.

It was strange at first, Laurent’s lips frozen against his, his whole body tense and unyielding. Damen had half a mind to pull away, thinking maybe Laurent didn’t want this after all. Instead, as if by their own accord, his hands wandered down to Laurent’s arms, stroking the length of them gently before reaching his hands and lacing their fingers together.

Laurent shivered at the caress, and it was like a door being unlocked. Suddenly, his body became pliant against him, his lips moving in response to Damen’s.

Damen ran his tongue along Laurent’s bottom lip and felt his hands momentarily tighten on Damen’s, a strange sound akin to a whimper escaping him.

Damen let go of Laurent’s hands and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer against him, and Laurent threw his arms around Damen’s neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

 

A whimper left Laurent’s lips before he could stop it.

Damen was kissing him, and it felt too good, so much that he could feel his usual control slipping away. This was his first real kiss and it was amazing; dizzying and so much sweeter than he ever thought possible.

He distantly felt arms wrapping around his middle, and his own moved upwards on their own, Laurent too far gone to be able to guide them or do much of anything other than kiss Damen back.

Too soon, Damen pulled away. Laurent opened his eyes –a task that proved incredibly difficult in his intoxicated state. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that Damen had his head thrown back, looking up at the sky.

Laurent’s confusion at the sight lasted only the few seconds it took for a bolt of lightning to appear in the sky, followed closely by rumbling thunder. Tilting his head up, Laurent felt a droplet of water land on his cheek. It had barely fallen when another one joined it, then another and another.

In a handful of seconds, the sky was raining heavily, showering everyone with long awaited fresh water. The smell of rain was delicious and Laurent closed his eyes to breathe it in. It had been months since the last time it had rained, and the crowd was going berserk with the suddenness of it. Some were screaming about their straightened hair and melting makeup, others about their roofless cars in the parking lot, and others were just laughing gleefully and enjoying the shower.

Laurent opened his eyes to find Damen smiling at him. “Sorry I waited for the rain,” he said, leaning in again.

“It’s okay,” whispered Laurent against his lips before kissing him.

He was less light-headed this time, aware of everything from the smooth glide of Damen’s lips against his own, to the falling rain soaking his clothes, to the crowd’s roaring cheers that only grew louder as the announcer cried, “Touchdown! The Fighting Frogs have won!”

Damen pulled away from Laurent again. Laurent ran a hand through his dripping wet hair to push it off his face as he watched Damen turn his head to look at the center of the field where Nikandros was clutching the ball and running towards the rest of the team, screaming triumphantly. Their eyes met and he winked at Damen before breaking into a toothy grin that Damen mirrored.

Damen’s arms were still around Laurent’s waist when he looked back at him, still grinning widely, his dimple deeper than ever. Before he could stop himself, Laurent stood on his tiptoes and planted a kiss to it, feeling it deepen even more and suspecting that Damen’s smile was widening.

His suspicions were confirmed when he pulled away and saw the skin around Damen’s mouth stretched taut in an impossibly wide smile.

Laurent felt laugher escape his lips and the sight, and Damen laughed too. Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on Laurent’s waist and murmured, “Come here and kiss me.”

Laurent obliged happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D if you've seen the movie then you probably know this is kinda where it ends but I'm actually gonna add a couple more chapters to deal with everything that I added that wasn't in the movie :)  
> Anyways as usual don't forget about comments and kudos and byebye <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this fic is wrapping up soon. It's probably gonna be 12 chapters long but it might reach 13 if I get carried away :D  
> ps: Stéphane is up to his nastiness this chapter so proceed with caution if you're sensitive to that. It's nothing explicit but I thought I'd warn you guys just to be safe :)

“Some of us are trying to eat, guys!” Jord snapped, slamming his fork down on the table.

Still chewing on a slice of apple Damen had just fed him, Laurent turned his head to look at him while the rest of his body remained where it was, half facing Damen, one of his legs tangling with one of Damen’s at the knee.

He knew Jord didn’t mean any malice by his comment, but he still couldn’t help teasing him. “Now you know how I used to feel when you and Aimeric were all over each other during lunch.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Laurent knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, even before Jord’s face fell and he looked away.

Laurent was about to apologize when he noticed where Jord’s eyes had stopped. He was watching Aimeric, who was sitting alone two tables away, poking and pushing his food around his plate without taking a single bite.

“Go to him,” Laurent heard himself say, his guilt speaking for him.

Jord’s head whipped around to look at him. He sounded confused as he said, “No. Why would I do that?”

Laurent regarded him with a skeptical expression before starting, “Listen, I know you’re not over him, and he clearly still likes you too. So just…” He trailed off, not sure how to say it. “What I’m trying to say is, if you’re staying away from him for me, don’t. I mean look,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at himself and Damen with a smile, “something good actually came out of what he did. I forgive him, alright? Now it’s only up to you to decide if _you_ do, but don’t let your guilt towards me hold you back.”

Jord seemed torn as he looked between Laurent and Aimeric for a few seconds. When Jord looked back down at his plate, Laurent thought he had made up his mind, so he was surprised to see him lift the tray, stand up and go to where Aimeric was sitting all alone.

Laurent watched Jord approach Aimeric slowly, as if he was still making up his mind and he might turn away at any moment. Aimeric only noticed him when Jord had already reached his table and was setting his tray down. His eyes widened and he blinked rapidly at him as if Jord was a hallucination he was trying to clear out of his vision.

From where he was sitting, Laurent couldn’t hear what was being said, but he saw Jord’s lips move to shape slow hesitant words that had Aimeric looking down at his lap ruefully. Jord’s talking didn’t cease, and as he continued talking, Aimeric seemed to be getting closer and closer to tears.

Laurent almost felt sorry for him. Apparently Jord was more interested in rebuking Aimeric than making up with him. Laurent was about to look away, losing hope for recovery in their relationship, when he saw Aimeric’s head whip up to look at Jord.

His expression was still pinched as if in pain, but his eyes shone as a glimmer of hope flickered in them. His mouth moved slowly as he repeated Jord’s last words, “A second chance?”

Jord nodded, and although the pained expression didn’t completely leave Aimeric’s face, Laurent could see the smallest lift in the corners of his mouth.

After a second of silently gazing at one another, they both picked up their forks and started eating –both tasting their food for the first time- and Laurent took that as his cue to leave them alone.

He turned his attention back to his own table, only to find Damen looking at him with raised brows. “What the hell was all that?”

“It’s nothing,” answered Laurent, not in the mood to explain who Aimeric is or what he’d done.

Damen didn’t look convinced but he shrugged and simply said, “If you say so.” He didn’t push the subject and instead placed his hand on Laurent’s on the table, lacing their fingers together. Laurent smiled at him and Damen brought his hand to his mouth, kissing Laurent’s fingertips, his palm, then his wrist.

“You know, I never took you for a sappy romantic,” teased Laurent.

“Really?” asked Damen, his hot breath ghosting over Laurent’s wrist and sending a shiver down his body. “All the poetry I sent wasn’t clue enough?”

“I meant Damen-you, not Nomad-you,” explained Laurent.

Damen looked up at that, his eyes meeting Laurent’s and leveling him with a serious look. “There’s only one _me_.”

“Yeah, I know. I just –I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, okay?”

The charming smile reappeared on Damen’s face as he waved away Laurent’s apology and said, “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Laurent smiled back, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes; he still couldn’t get Damen’s grim look out of his head. _Touchy subject,_ he thought. _Got it._

“Have you told your father about Princeton yet?” Laurent asked to change the subject.

“No,” Damen answered gloomily. “He wouldn’t even talk to me last night. What about you? Still no news from Princeton?”

Laurent’s smile fell. He looked down at the table where their fingers were intertwined and answered without meeting Damen’s eyes, “I did get my letter, actually.”

Damen’s face lit up at that. “And?”

“I didn’t get in,” Laurent blurted out. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he was disappointing Damen as well as Auguste’s spirit with his failure.

Damen was silent for so long Laurent thought he wasn’t going to say anything, so he was surprised when he felt fingers below his chin, tilting it up gently. He looked up at Damen to find that serious expression back on his face again except this time, his eyes were warm and filled with tenderness instead of anger.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand reaching upwards and coming to rest on Laurent’s cheek, his thumb caressing his cheekbone, “I know how much Princeton meant to you, but this isn’t the end. If they’re so stupid that they rejected you –probably the brightest student to have ever applied for them-, then other schools won’t be as stupid. Trust me, you’ll find a university that knows your worth. And it’ll be just as good as Princeton, if not better, okay?”

“Okay,” Laurent answered in a whisper, feeling only slightly reassured.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Damen whispered back.

Laurent couldn’t hold back the laughter that burst out of him at that. “Did you just call me _baby_?”

Damen grinned. “I _have_ been told I’m quite the romantic.”

“Well you haven’t been lied to,” Laurent said through his laughter, his widening smile threatening to tear his face in half.

The hand on Laurent’s cheek tightened, pulling him closer to Damen and allowing Damen to give him a quick peck on the mouth.

They had barely separated when a shadow fell on Laurent’s face. He opened his eyes to find three people standing in front of their table. Without introduction, they set their plates down on the table and sat down on the side opposite Laurent and Damen.

Laurent recognized Nikandros, who he knew as Damen’s best friend even before Laurent had met Damen, due to how inseparable they seemed to be. Nikandros had barely sat down when he and Damen started talking enthusiastically about last night’s game, Nikandros dropping some not-so-subtle comments about how Damen had probably enjoyed himself the most.

That left Laurent alone with the other two intruders. He recognized one of them as Lazar –his lab partner that had a talent of coming up with the most creative pickup lines that had Laurent rolling his eyes and fighting the urge to start throwing punches to shut him up.

His flirting tactics seemed effective on some people after all though, because he was holding the other boy’s hand over the table. Lazar looked at Laurent and Damen’s hands and the way they were mirroring his own with raised eyebrows.

He finally tore his gaze away from their joined hands and up to Laurent’s face, where their eyes met. Laurent leveled him with a blank look, cocking an eyebrow as he held his eyes silently.

It only took seconds for everyone around the table to notice the tension, Damen and Nikandros falling silent.

“Right, I forgot to make introductions,” said Damen in an attempt to break the awkward silence. “Laurent, this is Nik, Pallas and Lazar.” He pointed to each of them as he said their names.

“We’ve met,” said Laurent without breaking eye contact with Lazar. A taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he felt them lift up.

Lazar mirrored his expression easily and said, “Yeah I still have the scar to prove it.”

“A scar?” Damen’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yes,” said Lazar. “My ego is scarred for life.”

Laurent huffed out a laugh, and the tension around the table died down. “Your ego needed a trim, it was getting monstrously large.”

“You wanna see something bigger?” said Lazar, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You mean your right hand’s muscles?” asked Laurent, his taunting smile returning as he lifted an eyebrow.

Lazar laughed and looked at Damen. “Good luck dude,” he said jokingly. “You’ve got yourself a lion.”

“I prefer _snake_ ,” said Laurent.

“As you wish,” replied Lazar with a bow of his head.

The conversation inevitably diverted back to football, and Laurent surprised even himself by pitching in at times, discussing last night’s game and making much better attempts at subtle comments to Damen than Nik.

When the discussion became heated and his three friends became too distracted arguing about attack strategies to notice what he was doing, Damen leaned close to Laurent and whispered in his ear, “You know, you’re incredibly sweet for a supposed snake.”

Laurent bent his head and pretended to be very immersed in his food, his hair falling around his face like a curtain to hide the blushing smile creeping onto it.

 

School was over early that day since it was a Friday, and with no shift at the diner to occupy his afternoon, Laurent found himself with lots of free time. He made his way to his car, thinking about what he could do in that time, and was surprised to find Damen leaning on the hood of his car, waiting for him.

“Hey,” said Damen, pulling Laurent towards him by the hand to give him a quick kiss.

“Hi,” Laurent replied with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I come see my boyfriend when I miss him?”

Laurent rolled his eyes even as his smile widened. “You’re such a sap.”

“I thought we’d already established that,” said Damen, grinning. “Besides,” he continued, “dad still isn’t talking to me and I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see me at the car wash today. So I was thinking about giving you a ride to the diner?”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “I quit, remember?”

“Oh right, you said something about that last night.” Damen furrowed his eyebrows. “Although I was very distracted by your yelling at me so you can’t blame me for forgetting.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” protested Laurent.

“Yes you were,” said Damen. “And you were _very_ scary.”

Laurent rolled his eyes again, and Damen laughed.

“Alright, I’m kidding I’m kidding,” said Damen, raising their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Laurent’s. “Seriously though, would you like to go somewhere?”

“Well there was something I was thinking about doing actually,” Laurent said hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“Remember when I said I have no home left?” When Damen nodded slowly, a frown starting to appear on his face, Laurent continued, “Well that’s because I left. But I didn’t bring anything with me. I basically only have my school and diner uniforms and yesterday’s textbooks so I need to go get my school stuff at least.”

At some point while he was talking, Laurent had looked down, opting for studying his shoes instead of meeting Damen’s eyes. After some seconds of silence, he forced himself to look up at Damen, and was surprised to find his lips drawn up in a gentle smile.

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride there,” he said, giving Laurent’s hand a squeeze.

 

Once in the driveway, Damen stopped his car, killed the engine and stepped out of the car. All the while, Laurent found himself glued to his seat, his fingers resting on the door’s handle but unwilling to twist it open.

But he didn’t have to, because the door swung open a second later and Damen appeared in front of Laurent, sporting his usual gentle smile. “You alright?”

Laurent took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said as he marched towards the front doors.

 

Damen never thought there would come a day where he would think of his house as minimalistic; he came from a wealthy family that owned several mansions all over the country –and a few in Europe- and they never shied away from elaborate décor with expensive relics, marble statues or mosaic tableaus…

But all of that paled in comparison to Laurent’s house; tapestries and giant paintings lined the walls, obscuring them for view until it was hard to tell what color they were. The ceiling was several floors high, and from it hung an enormous chandelier dripping with crystal jewels and gold. In fact, everywhere he looked, Damen was met with gold: golden clocks and urns sat atop vanities, the elaborate carvings where the walls met the ceiling were in gold; even the stair’s railing was gold, with looping patterns between every two columns.

Laurent crossed the entrance hall and motioned for Damen to follow him up the stairs. They had only taken a few silent steps up the carpet-covered stairs when Damen heard voices coming from the second floor. He didn’t think much of it until he caught a glimpse of Laurent’s face, eyes wide in evident panic before he bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Damen struggled to follow him, which was impressive considering his athletic skills. Finally, Laurent stopped in front of a large door, the voices coming from behind it now loud enough for Damen to make out what they were saying.

He heard a honeyed voice purr, “How do you like the wine, Nicaise?”

Laurent threw the door open so violently it hit the wall with a deafening thud, exposing the contents of the room.

It was dark, the thin rays of sunlight leaking from between the closed curtains barely enough to make out the room’s outline. Damen’s eyes were still struggling to get used to the darkness when it was gone, replaced by the light of a chandelier at the center of the room.

Damen had barely spotted Laurent near the light switch before he was already advancing across the room, a wild look in his eyes that Damen had never seen before. He was confused as he followed Laurent’s movements, until he saw where he was headed.

Against a wall at the far end of the room stood a large canopy bed, blood-red curtains cascading down its every corner, almost obscuring the bed entirely. Almost, but not quite yet. From between the curtains, Damen could see two people at the edge of the bed; one was a man with a thick black beard, one of his hands frozen on the thigh of his companion… Who was a small boy.

Nausea crawled up Damen’s throat even as he tried to convince himself that he was misreading the situation, but it was hard to find another explanation for the placement of the bearded man’s hand, the earlier darkness of the room, the wine glasses both of them were holding, or the man’s open tie and half-unbuttoned shirt.

Damen didn’t have time to figure out an appropriate reaction before Laurent was on the man, pulling him up by his undid tie and, to Damen’s shock, throwing a punch that landed squarely on the man’s nose, sending his wine glass crashing to the ground where it shattered with a sound barely louder than the crack of the man’s nose as Laurent’s fist collided with it.

Blood started pouring out of the man’s nose and matting his beard as Laurent packed another punch. Damen had half a mind to stop him, but before he could move to do so, he felt a small shape hurtling past him into the hallway. When he turned around, Damen found the boy curled in on himself in a corner, arms hugging his knees on the floor.

Damen took a slow step closer to the boy and said in his gentlest voice so as to not frighten him any further, “Nicaise, right?”

The boy nodded, inching deeper into the corner at Damen’s step forward.

Damen stood still. He kept his voice low as he said, “You need to go, Nicaise. Can you call someone to pick you up?”

“I already called the cops,” the boy said, his voice so low Damen had to strain his ears to hear it.

“You did? That’s great, Nicaise. When?” Damen asked, his voice rising in relief.

“A while ago,” Nicaise answered, his voice noticeably less shaky. “When he went to pour the wine.”

“Good. Now go wait for them downstairs.”

Nicaise stood up and, never taking his eyes off Damen, made his way to the stairs and descended them.

Damen hurried back into the room, his head a whirlwind of confusion and shock, unable to make sense of the situation. He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he stepped through the door.

Laurent and his uncle’s positions were reversed, and instead of Laurent being the one in control, his uncle had managed to overpower him and throw him against the wall. He was pinning him in place with a forearm on his neck, pressing so hard that Laurent’s face flushed from being unable to breathe. Or that might’ve been because of how hard he was struggling, arms flailing, trying desperately to find purchase or land a blow.

With blood running down his nose into his mouth and beard, and sweat beads shining on his forehead from the effort of holding Laurent’s thrashing body in place, his uncle looked psychotic as he said, “Are you jealous, Laurent?” He stepped closer to Laurent, leaving only bare inches between their faces, and his free hand came up to caress his cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always remember you as my favorite, even if you’ve outgrown my tastes now.”

All at once, realization dawned on Damen, accompanied by a dizzying wave of nausea and fury. Laurent had told him he didn’t get along with his uncle, had even hinted at some mistreatment, but never anything like _this._

As if by their own accord, Damen’s limbs kicked into action, his legs carrying him to Laurent and his hands grabbing hold of his uncle’s shirt, tearing what was left of his buttons and flinging him across the room.

He landed on the ground with a loud thud and an _oof_ sound as the breath was knocked out of his lungs. Damen didn’t allow him time to recover before he was on him again, knees pinning his arms to the ground as he swung at him with all his force.

One strike followed another without a second’s pause, and Damen started to feel an ache in his fist, but the fiery rage in him hadn’t cooled down in the slightest. He distantly heard Laurent’s voice crying out his name, but it was drowned out by the sounds of his blows’ impact.

Damen was oblivious to how much time had passed, but at the sound of sirens wailing, Laurent’s protesting voice rose. Damen could now hear him saying that Stéphane wasn’t worth it, that he was hurting himself, that the cops were here and he had to stop… Still Damen’s hands wouldn’t slow down, raining punches down on whatever part of Stéphane he could reach.

He knew he ought to stop, knew he was crossing a dangerous line when Stéphane stopped protesting –seemed to stop moving all together. But he was incapable of regaining control of his body, his anger the only thing he could understand and steer by in the midst of all his confusion.

The next thing Damen was aware of was the hammering footsteps of two large men and their rough hands on him as they yanked him up and away from Stéphane’s twitching body. The fog in his head had not yet cleared when Damen felt the cold bite of metal on his wrists. When he tried tugging his hands apart fruitlessly, he realized that he was in menacles.

He was already being dragged out of the room by one of the officers when he finally had the clarity of mind to tell them that he wasn’t the one they should be arresting, but his mouth still hadn’t caught up with his mind’s progress, and he was unable to form the words.

And he didn’t have to. The officer dragging Damen had barely taken two steps towards the door when Laurent stopped him. “Wait,” he called out. “Don’t arrest him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He was protecting me.” And then with a look at Nicaise who had ventured back into the room with the officers, he added, “He was protecting us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I enjoy writing Stéphane getting beat up more than is probably healthy? Yes I did. Do I feel guilty about it? Not in the slightest xD


	11. Chapter 11

The night flew by in a blur of wailing police cars, flashing badges and dark interrogation rooms.

Damen’s feet tapped the ground nervously as he sat waiting in front of the interrogation room. He had no idea how much time had passed since they left Laurent’s house and drove to the police station —the officers allowing them to take Damen’s car so as to not have to sit crammed next to a barely responsive Stéphane in the backseat of the police car.

Damen’s interrogation had been short. He only had to retell what happened tonight —and get rebuked for his violence, regardless of it being self defense- and then he was let out. Laurent and Nicaise, however, had each been led by a suited man to separate offices, where they have been locked up for what felt like hours.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, Damen’s thoughts inevitably took a dark turn, wandering to what Laurent had had to endure. The thought was accompanied by another wave of rage, startling in its intensity, and Damen suddenly remembered that Stéphane was in the interrogation room adjacent to his. Only a few feet were separating them.

Damen hauled himself up and walked in the opposite direction his body was trying to pull him. It would do more harm than good to beat Stéphane up again now, especially when he seemed only a breath away from crumbling to pieces. Damen was surprised he hadn't been taken to a hospital first, but maybe the charges against him were too big and the officials settled for having a paramedic quickly patch him up before locking him up in an interrogation room.

Damen walked on aimlessly, trying to think of anything but the stomach-turning nausea he was feeling —and the reason behind it. Eventually, Damen reached the police station’s exit. The bite of the cool night breeze was a welcome relief from the suffocating feelings that were threatening to make his heart burst. Every time he thought about what Laurent must be feeling, his stomach turned and his chest tightened painfully.

Night had fallen while they were inside, and the darkness it carried only amplified Damen’s unease. He was about to reenter the building when the sound of screeching tires startled him. He looked around for the source of the noise and saw a black BMW halting to a stop, the woman in the backseat jumping out of it before the chauffeur had time to get out himself and open the door for her.

She sped past Damen and immediately threw herself at the first officer she found. “Where is he? Where’s my son?”

She sounded crazed —and even looked it, with her hair a tangled mess, as if she had been savagely running her hand through it, and her blue dress bunched up around her thighs where she must’ve held on to it in an iron-hard grip during the drive.

"Calm down, ma'am," the officer tried.

That only seemed to infuriate her more. “ _Calm down?_ ” she repeated, her voice now so loud every head in the room turned to look at her. “I send my son to a tutoring session only to receive a call saying that he’s in a police station —and because —because he's-" She barely managed to stammer the words out before her whole body jolted in a violent sob that left her shaking.

Another officer joined the one she had been yelling at, and together they managed to coax her into following them through one of the hallways.

Damen returned to his earlier seat and found Laurent already walking towards it as well. He and the suited man from earlier were talking —or rather, the man was talking and Laurent was nodding along, his distant, unfocused eyes proof that he wasn’t listening to anything the man was saying.

Damen met them halfway through the hall, and as he approached them, he heard Laurent interrupt the man’s promises of not letting Stéphane get away with it with a hurried, “Where’s Nicaise?”

The man didn’t seem angry about being interrupted. He only needed a second to halt his speech to a stop before starting again, “He’s just been let out as well. I’ve been informed that his mother has arrived to pick him up. Would you like to see him?”

“No,” Laurent answered without missing a beat.

Damen reached them just as the man said his farewells to Laurent. He shook hands with both Laurent and Damen before returning to his office, a grim look on his face.

Damen looked at Laurent, not knowing what to expect to find in his eyes and bracing himself to not be surprised about whatever he finds. But he was still inevitably surprised when he looked at him. There was nothing to see in his eyes, because Laurent wouldn’t lift them from the floor.

He was looking at the tiled floor like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen, his eyes refusing to meet Damen’s. His shoulders were hunched and he had his right arm wrapped around his middle as it scratched his left elbow, leaving angry red nail-marks in its trail.

The sight of him like that made Damen’s heart feel like it was tearing in half. “Hey,” he whispered, his hand reaching out to tilt Laurent’s chin up. Damen’s fingers barely brushed his skin when Laurent flinched away.

His eyes snapped up to Damen’s face for a split second in which Damen’s heart cracked at the pained and apologetic look in them before dropping their gaze back to the floor.

“Can you take me to Paschal’s?” he asked, head still bent down. “Or back to school so I can get my car.”

“Who’s Paschal?” Damen asked, pretending not to notice the way Laurent’s voice shook.

“A friend I’m staying with.”

“Stay with me,” whispered Damen before he could stop himself.

He was about to take it back, worried it might scare Laurent away, when blue eyes finally lifted to meet his.

“What?” asked Laurent in a whisper.

“I mean- I only meant-” Damen took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I just don’t want to leave you. I’ll take you wherever you ask, but I really want you to stay with me.”

Laurent seemed to be considering that. He was silent for a minute, making Damen think he was looking for a polite way to decline. He was about to tell him it was alright if he didn’t want to, when Laurent finally said, “Okay.”

 

Sleepwalking. That’s the word that came to mind when Laurent tried to describe how he felt. Everything had felt unreal, like an overly vivid nightmare, from the moment he stepped into his house until now.

Laurent knew he was supposed to feel something after all that’s happened tonight, but all he felt as Damen led him through his house is numbness. He had drained himself of every possible emotion in the hours he’d spent answering the detective’s questions and now he felt like a floating, empty shell.

He was jolted back to reality by the blaze of a bright light. Laurent looked around, and his heart stopped when he realized where he was. Laurent was in a bedroom, with red curtains drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows —and overly familiar red sheets draped over the king-sized bed.

Every cell in his body screamed for him to run out of the room. He took a step back, intending to do just that, when his eyes fell on Damen. He was keeping a comfortable distance away from Laurent, standing a few paces away from him with his face pinched in concern.

“Everything alright?” Damen asked, undoubtedly noticing his step back.

Laurent didn’t answer, but his eyes flickered to the bed on their own accord.

“I’ll take the couch,” Damen said, gesturing to the assembly of sofas at the other side of the room.

Laurent nodded but stood frozen in place. He watched as Damen squirmed uncomfortably in his place before finally pushing out, “Laurent, I don’t know what-”

“Do you have anything I can wear?” Laurent interrupted.

Damen’s mouth clamped shut at the interruption, but it only took him seconds to recover. “Yeah, sure,” he said as he made his way to the dresser and pulled out a few items of clothing.

He walked towards Laurent and, keeping an arm’s length between them, handed him a tee-shirt and sweatpants.

“Thanks,” said Laurent as he took the neatly-folded clothes.

“That’s the bathroom,” said Damen, pointing to a door near the sofas. “You can go get changed there and brush your teeth if you want.”

Laurent nodded and went into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned his head against it.

He tried to control his breathing, attempting to calm himself down.  _There’s no reason to panic,_  he kept telling himself. He had no reason to be afraid of Damen. And Stéphane was behind bars at that very moment. Laurent thought he would be happy about that, but all he felt was  _exhausted_.

He took his time changing into Damen’s clothes, his scent engulfing Laurent in pleasant warmth. Then he folded his school uniform and returned to the room.

When Laurent first spotted Damen, he thought he was asleep. He was lying on his back on the sofa, an arm thrown over his head and covering his eyes. Laurent tiptoed across the room, careful not to wake him up, which is why he was surprised to see Damen sit up when Laurent was halfway to the bed.

“Laurent,” he said, his firm voice indicating he was wide-awake. He sat up, faced Laurent and whispered, “Do you need to talk?”

“No,” answered Laurent shortly, then walked the rest of the way to the bed and forced himself under the blood-red sheets.

Minutes later, Laurent heard the rustling of movement on the sofa and Damen whispering, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Laurent whispered back.

 

When Damen woke up, it was dark in his room and his heart felt like it was folding in on itself. He was only confused for a second before he remembered the source of his unease.

He let out a long breath at the realization. “It's just a dream,” he whispered, running his hand through his disheveled hair.

Damen was about to fall back on his pillow when two things struck him. One was that he was sleeping on a sofa instead of his bed. The second was that he could hear low noises from the other side of the room.

He turned his head towards the sounds, and the pain returned to his chest as reality set in. It hadn’t been a dream at all, and Laurent’s thrashing body on the bed was proof of that.

Damen approached his bed slowly, his bare feet padding on the floor silently so as to not wake Laurent up. With only the moon as a source of illumination, it was dark in the room, and Damen was only able to see Laurent clearly when he was standing over him at the edge of the bed.

The sheets around Laurent were rendered a tangled mess as he trashed and kicked in his sleep, pained sounds escaping his lips.

Damen instinctively reached out and gently shook him awake with a whispered, “Laurent, wake up.”

He realized his mistake when Laurent jerked awake with a manic look in his eyes. He scrambled away from Damen’s hands before Damen had the chance to remove them and kicked the sheets off his legs, drawing them up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees as he curled in on himself against the headboard.

Damen watched as sleep fell away and Laurent slowly became conscious enough to take in his surroundings. He never budged from his position, but the set of his shoulders relaxed visibly when he spotted Damen, the frightened look in his eyes becoming less intense.

A shaking hand came up to smooth out his wild tangle of hair as Laurent dropped his head on his knees, hiding his face.

“What can I do to help?” Damen asked gently. In that moment, he thought he might do anything Laurent asked for to take his pain away, even if he asked him to go find and personally kill Stéphane.

It took a few agonizingly long seconds for Laurent to lift his head up and look at Damen as he hesitantly whispered, “Hold me.”

It wasn’t what Damen was expecting, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved as slowly as possible as he positioned himself against the headboard. He spread his arms in a silent invitation and Laurent eventually abandoned his spot to go to him.

Damen sat still, back straight against the headboard. He watched as Laurent approached him slowly and sat with his head resting on Damen’s shoulder.

He was just as tense as Damen, his posture stiff and clearly uncomfortable. Damen wrapped an arm around him, resting his hand on his forearm, and was happy to not have him jerk away. Laurent didn’t fully relax against him, but he let out a ragged breath and shifted into a more comfortable position.

Damen was unaware of how much time had passed with them sitting like that when his hand started to travel up to Laurent’s head. It stroked his hair and gently tugged at the knots in an attempt to loosen them, and Laurent closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

Untangling knots one-handed proved more difficult than Damen thought and it took a lot of concentration, which is why he was taken off guard when Laurent asked, “What are you doing?”

Damen’s hand stilled. “Untangling your hair,” he answered uncertainly. “Do you want me to stop?”

Laurent shook his head against Damen's shoulder. “No,” he said, his voice on the verge of breaking. “I meant what are you doing here —with me?”

“What?” Damen frowned in confusion. He shifted a little so he could look at Laurent better as he said, “What are you talking about? Of course I want to be with you.”

“ _Why?”_  Laurent asked. His voice was really starting to break, and when Damen looked into his eyes, he saw that they were brimming with unshed tears. “You could have anyone you’d like. Why are you wasting your time with someone —someone broken like me?”

The dull aching of Damen’s heart turned into a stabbing pain at Laurent’s words. He tilted Laurent’s chin up, careful to move slowly and make his intention clear so as to not have him flinch away like last time.

He needed a moment to find his words after the shock of Laurent’s, but when Damen finally spoke, he did so in a firm tone that left no room for doubt. “Listen to me. You are  _not_  broken. What happened to you wasn’t your fault and I do not think any differently of you for it.”

Damen let his fingers trail up from Laurent’s chin and brush his jaw as he continued, his voice softening, “And  _you_  are  _everything_  I ever wanted.” He cupped Laurent’s face in his hand. “You’re so beautiful, so funny, so smart. So  _brave_.”

Tears started streaming down Laurent’s cheeks between one blink of his golden lashes and the next. He let his head fall as he cried silently, his whole body shaking with suppressed sobs.

Damen wiped as much of his tears as he could with his thumb. His tone was back to its earlier firmness as he confessed, “I don’t want anyone but you — _all_  of you. And there’s nothing I’d rather be doing, and no one I’d rather be with other than you right now.”

Laurent’s whole body jerked with a loud sob. His eyes met Damen’s, and Damen thought he saw a sad smile on his lips before he dropped his head back on Damen’s shoulder, crying freely now.

Damen held him close as Laurent cried, his tears soaking through Damen’s shirt, and his hands fisted there. Despite the iron-hard grip of his hands on Damen’s shirt, the rest of Laurent’s body had become pliant, easily fitting against Damen’s and molding them into one.

Damen lost track of how long they’d sat like that but eventually, Laurent’s shaking subdued. Damen wrapped his arms tighter around him and Laurent made a content sleepy noise.

When Laurent’s breathing finally evened out and his body was fully relaxed, Damen assumed that he had fallen asleep. He got up gingerly, careful not to wake Laurent up, and stood next to the bed. He maintained the same carefulness as he shifted Laurent into a more comfortable position and drew the sheets over him.

Damen indulged in brushing a stray strand of hair out of Laurent’s face before he turned around and made for the couch.

He’d only taken one step when he felt his hand being tugged. He turned around and found Laurent’s hand holding on to his tightly. His hard grip was surprising because of his drooping sleepy eyes and the way his words slurred when he said, “Don’t go.”

Damen hesitated, but Laurent kept pulling him closer. Damen’s knees were touching the bed when Laurent added, “Stay with me.”

“Okay,” Damen whispered as he made his way around the bed. It was large enough to fit three people, so Damen didn’t have any difficulties leaving room between him and Laurent as he laid on the bed.

Laurent seemed to have another idea though, because he shifted closer to Damen until the only things separating them were a couple of inches and the sheets Damen hadn’t gotten under.

Damen stayed still. He looked at Laurent, and Laurent looked back at him for a minute before reaching out and taking Damen’s hand in his and letting their fingers lace together between their heads on the pillows. Then he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

 

Laurent woke up to the feeling of a body stirring against him. His heart lurched in panic at first before he recognized who was lying next to him. Damen was waking slowly, his eyes moving under their lids and his head starting to move on the pillow. They’d fallen asleep with their joined hands being the only point of contact, but Laurent woke up to find them almost nose to nose, one of Damen’s arms thrown over Laurent’s waist.

They had apparently gravitated towards each other in their sleep, and Laurent was surprised to find he didn’t mind it. He removed Damen’s hand from his waist and brought it to his lips.

Damen’s eyes fluttered open as Laurent placed a kiss to his knuckles. He smiled lazily and murmured, “G’morning.”

“Good morning,” repeated Laurent.

Damen still had that languid smile on his face as he looked at their intertwined hands. He’d just started playing with Laurent’s fingers when his face suddenly fell. His gaze lifted to look back at Laurent’s face, blinking rapidly as if he had just woken from a dream.

Slowly and without disentangling their hands, he rose to lean on one elbow and asked, his eyes now awake and full of concern, “You alright?”

“No,” answered Laurent. Then, with a small smile, he added, “But I will be.”

Damen seemed to deem that enough, because he relaxed a little and resumed playing with Laurent’s fingers.

When the silence became too much for Laurent, he couldn't help blurting out, “Thank you.”

That took Damen by surprise. His brows furrowed in confusion for a second before his expression changed, his eyes going from confused to affectionate. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Laurent’s forehead.

“You never have to thank me, Laurent. I meant everything I said last night,” Damen whispered against Laurent’s forehead.

The tenderness in his voice, coupled with the memory of Damen’s words the previous night and the way Damen looked at him now as he pulled away, threatened to bring fresh tears to Laurent’s eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this cherished.

Damen looked at him for a while longer before his lips drew up in a smile. Standing up, he asked, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” answered Laurent truthfully. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.

“Well then,” said Damen, holding his hand out for Laurent, “let’s go get some breakfast.”

Laurent took his hand and let Damen lead him to the kitchen.

As they made their way through Damen’s house, Laurent couldn’t help admiring his surroundings. The decor couldn’t be more different than that of Laurent’s house, but it still caught his eye with its beauty. It was a lot less elaborate, with marble everywhere instead of gold, and red as a dominant color instead of blue. It was elegant in a subtle way, and Laurent thought it fit Damen perfectly.

Laurent was too distracted with studying the carved columns lining the halls to notice that they had reached the kitchen. He only took notice when Damen yanked his hand out of his and ran across the room.

When Laurent caught up with him, Damen was on his knees on the floor in front of the sprawled body of a man. He was shaking the man violently, and his voice shook frantically as he shouted, “Dad! Dad wake up!”

Laurent was still processing Damen’s words, his eyes widening as he looked between father and son, when Damen’s frantic voice cut through his thoughts.

“Call 911,” he said, pointing at the antique-like phone sitting atop the vanity in the hallway facing the open kitchen door, and Laurent rushed to obey.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said there might be an extra chapter if I got carried away? Well guess who got carried away? Yup me lmao so now this fic is gonna be one chapter longer than predicted xD

Theoretically, Laurent knew that fighting with a vending machine wouldn’t solve any of his problems. Practically though, he couldn’t stop himself from slamming his foot into the machine in frustration when his chocolate bar stayed stuck inside. His nerves were already on edge from everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours, and the last thing he needed was malfunctioning machines.

The snack finally fell after the third kick, and Laurent grabbed it and made his way through the hospital hall to the waiting room where Damen was sitting hunched forward with his head in his hands.

Laurent sat on the chair next to his and put a hand on his knee. “Hey,” he whispered.

Damen lowered his hands. He let them drop between his knees and laced his fingers together as he looked up at Laurent silently.

“Here,” said Laurent, holding out one of the chocolate bars. “I got you something to eat.”

Damen turned away from him and resumed studying the floor. “I’m not hungry.”

“I know you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday,” said Laurent, unwrapping the snack and offering it again. When Damen didn’t answer him, he added in his most reasonable tone, “Starving yourself isn’t going to make your father feel better, it’s only going to weaken and tire you.”

Damen finally looked back up at that. He took the bar from Laurent’s waiting hand with a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks.”

Laurent smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

Laurent only started unwrapping his own snack when Damen’s was already in his mouth. They ate silently for a while before the doctor approached them.

Damen stood up abruptly at the sight of him. He didn’t wait for him to reach them, but met him halfway through the hall. The doctor started talking, and Damen listened attentively, seeming to be hanging on his every word.

When Laurent caught up with them, he heard the doctor say. “He’s alright and should be good to go soon. Just make sure he isn’t exposed to anymore stress-inducing situations.”

“Of course,” said Damen, nodding vigorously. “Can I see him now?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered after a second’s hesitation. “But keep it short, he needs rest.”

Damen nodded again and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, Dr. West.”

West smiled and said, “Just doing my job.”

He walked away then, and Damen turned to look at Laurent. “Did you hear that?” Damen asked, voice breathless with relief. “He’s going to be alright.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Laurent answered with a smile. “Go check up on him.”

“You wanna come along?” Damen offered.

“No. I think you two need some space to talk things out.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Damen, then he took a deep breath and headed towards his father’s room.

 

Although Dr. West had already told Damen that there was nothing seriously wrong with his father, Damen’s heart still lurched in panic at the sight of Theomedes lying still in a hospital bed.

Damen approached him silently, assuming that he was asleep, and was surprised when his father lifted his head to look at him.

Even more surprising was the hand that he extended towards Damen and the tight smile on his lips as he said, “Come here, son.”

Damen hurried to his father’s side and took his waiting hand. “How do you feel, dad?”

“Guilty,” answered Theomedes, his hand tightening on Damen’s.

Damen frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I feel like I’ve failed at being a good father,” continued Theomedes with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to be the best father I could be. I wanted to make up for your mother’s death by giving you everything you could ever need; fortune, cars, a bright future, fame… For years, I did everything I could to provide you with everything I  _thought_  you needed, because I wanted to feel like a successful father.

“But I never stopped to wonder what it was that  _you_  wanted. As a kid, you loved football, so I made it my goal to get you into USC and make your childhood dream come true, without ever considering that you might grow up and change your mind.

“God, I was so afraid something would happen to me before I got to tell you this: I’m sorry,” he said with another sigh. “I’ve been taking out my anger towards myself on you these past couple of days with my silence when I should have been telling you this: I’m proud of you, son. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy and live the best life you could, and if football isn’t in that life, then so be it. I won’t stand between you and your dreams.”

Damen felt his eyes stinging, and he had to fight not to keep from tearing up. It was hard to speak with the lump in his throat, so all he managed was a weak, “Thanks, dad.”

Theomedes smiled at him, the expression warmer this time. “So what is it you want to do?”

“I want to be a writer,” answered Damen. “I’ve already gotten into Princeton.”

Theomedes’s eyes widened in surprise. “You did? That’s amazing,” he cried.

Damen laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I’m so proud of you, Damianos,” repeated Theomedes, giving Damen’s hand a squeeze.

Damen didn’t have the words to describe the happiness and relief that were coursing through him, so he opted for a wide smile and hoped it conveyed his feelings well enough.

Theomedes smiled back at him, then his smile turned into a playful grin as he said, “You know, one day I’d like to meet this boy you decided is worth more than state championships.”

“How about today?” Damen asked.

Theomedes lifted his brows in silent question, and Damen laughed. “He’s in the waiting room right now.”

“He came here with you? From home?”

“Yeah about that,” Damen started, rubbing the back of his neck. “He —umm —he might’ve stayed the night.”

Theomedes glared at his son, but it didn’t have the desired effect since the grin was still on his lips. “You and I need to have a serious conversation about boyfriends spending the night,” he said. Damen opened his mouth to say it was an emergency, and Theomedes interrupted him by saying, “But first, there’s someone I’d like to meet.”

“One minute,” said Damen, walking back to the waiting room where he found Laurent sitting, glaring at the phone ringing in his lap.

He caught sight of Damen approaching him and hung up immediately. Damen didn’t have time to ask him who the caller was before Laurent asked, “How is he?”

“He’s doing great,” answered Damen. “He wants to meet you, actually.”

“Now?” Laurent asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Should I expect to be yelled at?”

“No,” said Damen quickly. Then with a smile he added, “We talked, actually. And I think he’s finally coming around. He’s willing to let me do what makes me happy.”

Laurent’s face lit up with an illuminating smile. He stood up and exclaimed, “That’s great.”

“I know,” Damen said, mirroring his smile. He held out his hand and beckoned Laurent closer. “Come on, he’s waiting.”

Laurent crept closer, but he didn’t seem very confident as he put his hand in Damen’s.

Noticing his hesitation, Damen squeezed his hand and murmured, “Don’t worry. He’ll love you.”

“I sure hope so,” said Laurent with a weak laugh.

By the time they were back in the room, Theomedes had already sat up against the pillows piled on the bed. He gave Laurent a quick once-over that Damen thought was more inquisitive than threatening, but he still felt Laurent tense beside him and discreetly slide his hand out of Damen’s.

But to Damen’s surprise, Theomedes smiled friendlily at Laurent. “Well no wonder my son bailed out mid-game for you,” he said, his joyous tone having a calming effect on Damen. “You’re quite the looker, aren’t you?”

Laurent’s only response was a surprised chuckle and a glance down at the floor as his cheeks gained color.

“What’s your name?” Theomedes asked.

Considering his obvious nerves, Damen was surprised when Laurent’s voice came out firm and even as he said, “Laurent.”

Theomedes narrowed his eyes as if trying to see past Laurent and asked, “Whose son did you say you were?”

Damen’s confusion at the question was mirrored in the way Laurent’s brows drew together for a second before he answered with, “Aleron and Hennike DeVere.”

“Unbelievable!” he exclaimed, startling both Damen and Laurent. “Come here, son.”

Laurent flickered a confused look towards Damen but proceeded to do what he was told. When he was close enough, Theomedes reached out and took one of Laurent’s hands. Damen saw Laurent start and instinctively try to tug it free and fail, Theomedes lifting up his other hand so Laurent’s hand was trapped between both of his.

“I think I might believe in fate after all,” he said, eyes searching Laurent’s face.

“What?” Laurent asked. He had stopped trying to free his hand, but the stiff way he held himself gave away his unease.

Theomedes smiled, the way he used to smile to his sons when they were children. “I’m sorry. I’m confusing you, aren’t I?” He asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before adding, “I just can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?” Damen couldn’t help asking.

Theomedes flickered an amused glance towards him. “You don’t remember either?”

“Remember what?”

“I knew your parents,” he said, addressing Laurent again. “Actually, that’s an understatement. We used to be inseparable, and your father was like a brother to me.”

Damen saw Laurent’s eyes widen and fill with emotion. “He was?”

“Yes, he was,” Theomedes answered, smiling sadly. “The day I lost your father was the second worst day of my life —preceded only by my wife’s death.”

Laurent seemed shell-shocked. It took several seconds of expectant silence before he managed to get out, “Then why don’t I remember you?”

“I haven’t seen you since you were eight,” Theomedes explained. “When your father died, you and your brother just —disappeared. I thought you were grieving and I wanted to give you time, but neither of you ever reached out again.

“I’ll admit though,” he continued with a grin, “I was never very close to your brother, courtesy of him being pretty old at the time. But you, you were like a son to me, perhaps more so because you were the same age as my Damen. I was heartbroken when I didn’t hear from you again.”

Laurent laughed shakily and bent his head forward. Damen suspected it was to hide his expression.

“I need to have a word with your brother about dumping me like that,” said Theomedes in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it was the wrong thing to say.

Laurent looked back up at him, and although his cheeks were dry, Damen could see the glint in his eyes that indicated that tears weren’t far. Theomedes’ words only intensified that glint, and Laurent’s voice was barely steady when he said, “He’s dead, too.”

Theomedes’ mouth gaped in shock, and Damen fought the urge to go and close it. It was only after a long silence did his father manage to stammer out, “I’m so sorry, son. I didn’t know.”

Laurent nodded silently and went back to studying the floor.

A minute of heavy silence passed before Theomedes spoke again. “Do you have other family members you can staying with?”

Damen saw Laurent hesitate, his mouth immediately opening to answer, only for him to shut it again. Finally he said, “No, I don’t. But I’m staying with a friend.”

“Nonsense!” Theomedes cried, and Laurent actually jolted in surprise. “You have us. You’re welcome to stay with us whenever you want.” Then with a glance at Damen, probably remembering their earlier conversation, he added, “Well, when you stay the night, I’d rather you slept in different rooms.”

Both Laurent and Damen laughed at that, and Theomedes’ attention returned to his son.

“You really don’t remember him?” he asked.

“No,” answered Damen, frowning. “Hasn’t it been almost like ten years since we last saw each other?”

Theomedes grinned wide. “It has, but I didn’t think you  _could_ forget him.” At their confused looks, he explained, “Let’s just say your feelings for him go a bit farther than you think.”

Damen felt heat rush to his cheeks as the meaning of his words set in, and was thankful that his dark complexion would hide it. “Wait, you don’t think I liked Laurent when we were kids.”

“Oh I don’t think, I  _know_ ,” said Theomedes. “I remember there was this one time when he was reading to you from his favorite story book, and you tore a corner of the page as you tried to flip it. He was upset over it, and you came home crying and wailing about how he was never going to forgive you. It was impossible to shut you up, so I helped you write him an apology letter instead. Full with cut-out hearts and flowers decorating it and all.”

Damen was sure his flush could now never be hidden, no matter how dark his skin was. He hid his face with his palm and muttered, “Oh my god.”

Thankfully, that was the moment the nurse came in to remind them that Theomedes needed to rest. Damen and Laurent started to make their way out the door but were stopped by him saying, “I hope to be seeing a lot of you in the future, Laurent.”

“I hope so too,” answered Laurent, smiling.

Damen only managed to avoid talking until they were back in the waiting room. Their earlier seats had been taken, so they had to stay standing.

“So you liked me, huh?” teased Laurent.

“We’re dating,” Damen reminded him.

“Still.”

Damen leaned down to kiss the grin off Laurent’s face, but stopped inches away from his lips, allowing him to choose if he wanted to close the remaining distance. Laurent’s grin turned into a smile as he lifted his head to connect their lips in a chaste kiss.

Damen couldn’t take his eyes off Laurent even long after they’d separated. Instead, he studied his bright blue eyes that he could never get enough of. Laurent gazed back at him, and Damen was completely lost. He was unaware of how long it had been when the sound of someone clearing their throat broke their gaze.

Damen reluctantly followed the sound, a retort about the interruption already on his lips. The words died on his lips when he saw his brother standing a few paces away, his eyes sweeping Laurent with a considering look.

Damen cleared his throat, and Kastor’s gaze finally returned to him. Their eyes met, and Damen held Kastor’s gaze, unsure of what to be feeling but refusing to let whatever it is show anyways.

Finally, Kastor broke their stare and flickered a look at Laurent. “I see you’ve already found a replacement for Jokaste,” he said, his eyes raking over Laurent and probably noting all the physical similarities between him and Jokaste.

Damen ignored the jab and said, “Dad’s fine. He needs to rest now, though, so you can leave and come back later.”

“Now why would I do that, when my little brother is right here with his new male-version-of-Jokaste boyfriend?”

“ _His name_ is Laurent, and you of all people should never dare compare him to  _her_ ,” said Damen, barely capable of reigning his anger in.

“Why?” asked Kastor, smirking now that he managed to get a rise out of Damen. “Afraid I’ll fuck him too?”

“That’s it!” Damen shouted, charging for Kastor.

He swung his arm back, intending to punch the satisfied grin off Kastor’s face, when he felt a calming hand on his shoulder. Damen slowly lowered his arm as Laurent’s hand ran down it and reached his hand. With fingers caressing Damen’s hand calmingly, Laurent whispered, “Stop –you’re making a scene.”

Damen looked around and was not surprised to see that nearly every head in the room had turned to look at them. Facing his brother again, he gritted out, “We’re taking this outside.”

He turned around and charged for the door without bothering to see if Kastor was following him. He was halfway there when Laurent tugged at his hand. Damen turned to look at him, and Laurent went on his toes to whisper in his ear, “Stop. I don’t want you fighting with your brother because of me. Let _me_ handle him and his rude mouth, you know I can.”

“It’s not just about you,” Damen whispered back. “I need to settle some things with him. And I’d rather do it in private, so if you could stay here…”

Laurent sighed and stepped back away from him, making his way back to the waiting room without another word. Damen watched him go, then continued out to the parking lot.

The morning sun was casting a bright light over the area, and as beautiful as the light was, it was very inconvenient for a fight. Damen took a deep breath before turning around and facing his brother.

Kastor leveled him with a considering look, but didn’t say a word. Exasperated, Damen sighed and said, “When will you stop punishing me for something that isn’t my fault?”

Kastor let out an unamused snort. “Not your fault, you say?”

“No, it’s not,” Damen all but shouted. “I didn’t choose to be born after you, you know. I don’t even want any of the things you do. I was afraid to tell dad that, but now he knows. And if you could stop playing the victim and get off your high horse, I’m sure we can figure out to way to split our inheritance in a fair way that makes everyone happy, if you’d just talk to dad about this.”

Kastor was silent for what felt like the longest minute in Damen’s life. When he finally spoke, it was only to say, “We’ll see.”

Then he walked past Damen and made his way to his car. Damen was about to return to the hospital when he saw Kastor look over his shoulder at him. “Jokaste and I are over, by the way.”

“Are you?” Damen asked, not as interested as he thought he would be at the mention of Jokaste.

“Yes. I broke things off with her a few days ago,” said Kastor, getting into his car. “I just thought you should know that.”

Damen watched him drive off, his thoughts and emotions warring as he tried to figure out his brother’s intentions. Had he broken things off with Jokaste for him? Damen didn’t want to allow himself such wishful thinking, but that would explain why Jokaste would be so angry as to pull that stunt at the pep rally.

Eventually, Damen decided he would think about it after he’d had time to clear his head. He went back inside and found Laurent leaning on the wall near Theomedes’ room. As Damen approached him, he saw that his phone was ringing again. And just like earlier, Laurent watched it ring without picking up.

Damen leaned on the wall beside him and asked, “Aren’t you gonna pick that up?”

Laurent jumped at the sound of his voice so close. He looked at Damen and said, “You’re back. How did it go?”

Damen shrugged. “Better than I expected.”

Laurent lifted an eyebrow in question and Damen elaborated, “There was no punching.”

“All I can ask for, I guess,” Laurent said.

“What’s going on with you?” Damen asked. “Who’s that calling you?”

“I thought we were talking about you and Kastor.”

“Nice try, but you’re not changing the subject,” said Damen. When Laurent remained silent, he continued, “Seriously, what’s going on? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, I just…” he trailed off, looking around at the people rushing by them. Damen waited, and eventually Laurent said, “Nicaise.”

“What?” asked Damen.

“Nicaise. He’s the one calling me,” answered Laurent.

Damen mulled that over, but he didn’t understand why Laurent would be ignoring Nicaise –it wasn’t like anything Stéphane had done was his fault.

“Why aren’t you talking to him?” Damen asked, gentling his voice.

“Are you serious?” Laurent blurted out. At Damen’s stunned silence, he explained, “Everything that happened to him was my fault.”

Laurent rubbed his face with a hand, and in that moment, Damen thought he looked so old. Not the carefree seventeen-year-old he could have been in another life, but a burdened and defeated man, carrying more pain on his shoulders than anyone should have to. It hurt to think about it, so Damen pushed the thought away and wrapped an arm around Laurent’s shoulders.

"Hey, don’t say that,” he started, only to be silenced by Laurent holding his hand up.

“Don’t,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Well, you need to,” Damen spoke over him. “It’s  _not_  your fault, alright? You couldn’t’ve predicted any of that.”

“But I should have known,” Laurent insisted. “I knew we had scheduled a session that day, I just got so wrapped up in my own drama and completely forgot about it.”

He looked up at Damen, eyes full of anguish and desperation. “What if I hadn’t been there in time? Do you know what would’ve happened to him?” And then, in a murmur so low Damen barely heard it, “And it would’ve all been my fault.”

Damen leaned closer to Laurent until his hair tickled his nose. “But you made it, and he’s alright. Besides, he called the police before we got there. He’s a smart kid.”

“He is,” said Laurent with a defeated sigh.

Damen closed the remaining distance between them and planted a kiss to Laurent’s temple, feeling him lean some of his weight on Damen.

“I’ll call him later,” promised Laurent after a long stretch of contemplative silence.

“Okay,” said Damen, removing his head from where it was resting on Laurent’s and letting his arm fall from his shoulders. “But first, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Laurent smiled. It was tight and not the happiest it could be, but it was a smile nevertheless. “Are you now?”

“Yes I am,” answered Damen, already pulling Laurent towards the hospital’s exit. “I promised you something sweet during the homecoming dance, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter :) life is very stressful right now and I haven't had a lot of time to write so I barely managed to finish this on time. I don't know if I can get the final chapter written on time and I don't want to rush because it's the last one and I don't want to screw it up so I apologize in advance if it isn't uploaded by next Monday. I promise to do my best so that even if it's late it won't be by more than one or two days :)  
> In the meantime you guys can come check out my Tumblr or say hello to me on @multi-shipping-af


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I suck. I'm sorry for the delay, I really thought this would 100% be posted by Tuesday tops, and I did finish it on time, but then I decided I wanted to sleep on it to make sure there wasn't anything I wanted to add because IT'S THE END and that was making me nervous lol. And then I was out all day today and couldn't post...  
> Anyways enough rambling. Here it finally is: The Final Chapter. Enjoy! ^-^

"We could just come back another day,” said Damen into the silence that had lasted too long.

The sound of his voice brought Laurent back from his reverie, and he cast his eyes away from his mansion to look at Damen. He was smiling sympathetically, but Laurent had been with him long enough that he was easily able to detect the hidden concern in his eyes.

Laurent opened the passenger door and climbed out of the car silently. Damen followed his lead and locked the car behind them. He stayed by his door and waited until Laurent took the first step towards the front doors to move.

Laurent dug his keys out of his pocket and tried his best to conceal the deep breath he had to take as he slid them into the lock. As he pushed the heavy door open, light flooded the dark entryway and flecks of dust floated in the air, disturbed by the light midsummer breeze wafting in.

A sense of familiarity enveloped Laurent as he stepped into the half-lit room. He had only been back here once since Stéphane’s arrest in November, and his visit had only lasted long enough for him to pack his school supplies and some clothes, and then he was out for good.

Being back again evoked a mixed and bittersweet feeling in Laurent. On one hand, this was the house where he’d witnessed his brother’s death and where he’d endured years of abuse and then neglect from the man he used to call his uncle. On the other hand, this was also the house where he had grown up, spending more than half of his life with his brother, making what remained to this day some of Laurent’s fondest memories.

Laurent decided to focus on these memories as he made his way towards the light switch and flipped it on. The enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling lit up, bathing the room in bright light and emphasizing the amount of floating dust. The mess was expected since Laurent had let the butler go the day he came back to pack, and no one had been back here to clean.

On one wall hung a large family portrait, framed in shining gold. Laurent stopped in front of it and wiped some of the dust off the glass covering the painting. As he did so, the subjects’ faces appeared, and three sets of blue eyes looked back at him.

Aleron, Hennike and a ten-year-old Auguste all stared back at him. They weren’t smiling, which wasn’t unusual in hand-painted portraits where the subjects had to maintain the same position for hours at a time, but happiness radiated off their expressions and the way they stood huddled as close to each other as possible.

Laurent was too lost gazing at his family that he didn’t notice Damen moving until he was standing beside him. “Is that Auguste?” Damen asked, pointing at the boy in the painting.

“Yes,” answered Laurent. “And those are my parents.”

“He’s different from how I imagined him in dad's stories,” said Damen, studying Aleron's face. Then with a smile, he added, “But your mother looks exactly like I thought she would. A carbon copy of you.”

“Well, I’m her son. So technically, _I’m_ a carbon copy of _her_ ,” said Laurent, trying to maintain a playful air.

Damen rolled his eyes even as his smile widened, and they landed on another golden frame not far from the one they were looking at. He made his way there and brushed the dust off its glass to reveal three more sets of blue eyes, but belonging to different people.

Laurent heard Damen snort before asking, “Is this you?”

He made his way to the second painting. Although he knew what it was, Laurent allowed himself a moment to drink it in before answering, “Yes, it is.”

This painting had been created seven years after the last one, five years after Laurent’s birth –and Hennike’s death. Her absence was visible not only in her not being in the picture, but also in the way Aleron held himself. He was standing with his back almost as hard as his expression, and the distance between him and his sons left a portion of the painting’s center empty.

Auguste, however, still had that concealed glint of happiness in his eyes, albeit a bit dimmer than in the first painting. And while Aleron had kept his distance, Auguste was practically glued to Laurent –or rather, Laurent was glued to him.

He was standing at his brother’s foot, one of his short arms wrapped around his legs, and Auguste had a hand on Laurent’s shoulder, pulling him closer. And Laurent was smiling wide.

“You were so cute,” cooed Damen, his voice still shaking with laughter.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “I’d thank you, if it wasn’t for your use of the past tense.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re adorable,” said Damen, turning to face Laurent.

Laurent scrunched up his nose at the choice of words and stuck his lips out in a pout to hide the smile starting to lift them up. Damen laughed at his reaction. Moving quickly as if he couldn’t stop himself, he cupped Laurent’s face between his hands and kissed his nose.

Laurent felt heat flare in his cheeks, and, judging by his wide smile and the twinkle in his brown eyes, Damen hadn't missed his reaction. He leaned down and kissed Laurent again, this time on the lips.

When their lips parted, they stood there in comfortable silence, foreheads resting atop one another. The warmth emitting from Damen’s body was grounding and comforting, and it filled Laurent with a sense of security.

It was a long time before they parted, and when they did, Laurent was surprised to find he’d acquired a new surge of confidence. He channeled it into making himself turn around and head up the stairs.

The ascent wasn’t pleasant. It was plagued by memories of the last time Stéphane was here, which brought along memories of the countless other times Laurent had gone up those stairs, knowing what –who he would find waiting in his room upstairs.

The thought of turning around and returning to the car crossed Laurent’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He was heading to university at the end of the summer, and he had to come back here to pack whatever else he might need to bring with him. Running away wasn't an option. He wouldn't let it be one.

It was easier to make the decision to keep going when he could hear Damen’s carpet-muffled footsteps on the stairs, only a step behind him.

They reached the landing, and Laurent led Damen towards his room. It felt strange to be letting someone into his room –the only person he’d ever invited into his house since Auguste’s death was Jord, and he’d never been in Laurent’s bedroom. He thought it would be unnerving, but it only took one glance at Damen’s encouraging smile for Laurent’s nerves to calm down.

His bedroom looked exactly the way it had when he’d last visited it, except for the layer of dust coating everything. Laurent stepped inside and immediately went to his closet. He’d come here under the pretense of needing to collect more clothes and some furniture to bring to Philadelphia, but the truth was that there was really only one box in particular that he needed.

He opened the closet and was about to reach inside when he noticed Damen lingering in the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe in a would-be easy manner if it wasn’t for the hesitation plainly written of his face.

“Are you gonna help me pack or just stand there all day?” Laurent asked, lifting the box out of his closet.

Damen pushed away from the wall and came towards him. He looked at the box Laurent had placed on the floor and asked, “What’s in there?"

Laurent smiled. He knelt on the ground and, motioning for Damen to join him, said, “Take a look for yourself.”

He opened the box and revealed it’s contents. He knew most of them wouldn’t mean anything to Damen, so he picked up his storybook and held it up to him. “Remember this?"

Damen looked at the cover for a second before a dimpled smile formed on his lips. “Is this it?”

“The book you tore?” asked Laurent accusingly as he paged through it. “Yes, it is.”

Damen laughed. “How many times do I have to apologize for that?"

Laurent stopped flipping through the book and pointed at a page that was missing its upper corner. “Here,” he said. “Evidence of your crime.”

“Now I’m a criminal?” asked Damen in mock affront. “I'm hurt.”

“Probably not as much as my book was hurt when it was torn.”

Damen sighed. “Alright, you know what? I’ll write you a whole other book to make up for that. Deal?”

Laurent hummed like he was considering it. “Fine,” he said finally. “But it would have to be spectacular to beat this one.”

“I’d write you a _million_ books,” Damen murmured in Laurent’s ear.

"Speaking of books,” said Laurent, turning away towards the door to hide the blush he knew must be dusting his cheeks. “There’s something I want to show you.”

He got up and waited for Damen to follow him before leaving his room. They crossed the hallway to the other side of the floor, and Laurent caught Damen’s eyes lingering on the elaborate décor more than once.

They stopped when they reached a tall set of doors, and Laurent stopped to take a breath before going inside. The room they stepped into was one with only two visible walls. The rest were obscured by tall bookshelves laden with old books.

Damen’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the books. He approached them and carefully ran a finger along their spines. “Are these what I think they are?”

“First editions, old copies of classics, etcetera etcetera…” answered Laurent.

Damen was still gaping at the books silently, so Laurent explained, “They were my father’s. He liked to collect old things, but it was my mother who was more interested in reading instead of hording them. Auguste told me she used to read to him all the time.”

"Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” said Damen. He had finally picked up a book and was holding it gingerly, as if afraid to damage it by squeezing it too tightly.

Laurent chuckled. “Such a fangirl,” he said as he made his way to the desk.

He looked at the wooden surface and forced himself to see it as anything but Stéphane’s. Instead it was Auguste’s, Aleron’s… Laurent’s.

Last spring, Laurent had turned eighteen, and with that, he got all his inheritance back. It was strange knowing that this was all his now. He’d known it would happen for years —had been counting down the days for it, but imagining it and having it were two completely different things.

He felt free. For the first time in a long time, Laurent felt completely free. Maybe Stéphane being behind bars contributed to that feeling, but all Laurent knew was that now, sitting on _his_ desk in _his_ mansion, he finally felt like his own person.

“Everything alright?” asked Damen, probably noticing how still Laurent had gone.

Laurent started at the sound of his voice. He’d been so lost in thought that he had forgotten Damen was there, watching over him, the way he had been for months.

Damen had been Laurent’s rock for the past eight months. Laurent had leaned on him for support until he could stand on his own, and Damen had never cowered under his weight. Despite how crazy Laurent’s life had gotten that November, remembering that period still warmed his heart.

The details about Stéphane’s trial had been kept secret, but it was somehow leaked that abuse was involved. The first day back to school after that dreadful weekend, Jord had enveloped Laurent in a suffocating bear hug the moment he spotted him. He then proceeded to spend the whole day reminding Laurent that he loved him and that he was like the little brother he never had…

Laurent thought it was sweet of Jord to want to remind him that he was loved, but at the end of the day, it had gotten so weird that Laurent had started talking about the most random things just to change the subject.

Between Jord, Paschal, and Damen and his father, Laurent hadn’t had time to feel alone, even though he had no family left. He’d found a new and better family now, with people who truly cherished and appreciated him.

“Everything’s perfect,” he answered truthfully, smiling.

Damen smiled back and went to stand next to him. He put his forearms on Laurent’s shoulders and rested his chin on the top of his head. “Should we clear the desk? You could use it for studying now,” he said, voice muffled from his position.

Laurent was used to the desk in his room, and he doubted he needed something this grand for studying. But the idea of erasing every trace of Stéphane from his house was too tempting, so he said, “Okay."

Damen pushed off him. He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of his head before walking around the desk and picking up a dusty stapler. “So where do we start?"

 

Clearing the whole desk in one day would be impossible, that much was obvious after an hour’s fruitless work. They had barely made a dent in the scattering of papers and stationeries when Damen groaned in frustration. “Why the hell are there so many files?”

“I guess he was crazy and liked to hoard every paper that fell into his hands,” answered Laurent, going through one of the drawers.

“Well you got the _crazy_ partright,” said Damen as tore in half a piece of paper that Laurent hoped wasn’t important.

Laurent lifted another stack of papers and started sorting them into _keep_ and _throw away_ piles. “I guess it’s a good thing we have nothing else to do all day,” he said, giving Damen an exaggerated smile.

Damen put his own stack down and went to stand behind him. He wrapped his arms around Laurent’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I can think of a few things I’d rather be doing.”

He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear, and Laurent hummed in approval as his eyes fluttered shut. “Such as?”

Laurent waited for an answer, but Damen had gone completely silent and still.

“Out of ideas?” asked Laurent.

To Laurent’s disappointment, Damen took his hands off him and reached instead for the top paper on his lap. “What’s this?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “ _Now_ you want to go back to organizing?”

Damen ignored his jab and said, “Laurent, you have to see this.”

The urgency in his voice made Laurent push his irritation down and take the paper from him. It was a torn-open envelope with a folded letter inside. He unfolded it without bothering to check the sender on the envelope, and the breath was knocked out of him when he saw the symbol at the top of the page, identifying the sender.

_Princeton University._

Laurent had learned over the past five years that hope was a dangerous thing that needed to be tampered down before it was crushed by someone else. But he couldn’t stop the flare of hope that ignited within him as he studied the letter.

“Why did he have your rejection letter?” Damen asked.

“Because it’s not,” said Laurent, his speech slow as he tried to process the meaning of this. “It’s not a rejection letter.”

“What?”

Laurent looked up to find Damen frowning in confusion. “It’s not a rejection letter,” he repeated. “It’s an acceptance letter. I got in!”

Damen’s eyes widened in surprise, and his voice had gone highpitched with excitement when he said, “Wait, what? How?”

“I think the letter he showed me was forged,” Laurent explained. “Or this one could be, I guess. But I don’t see why he would forge an acceptance letter.”

"Why would he forge a rejection letter, either?” asked Damen, seeming genuinely confused.

Laurent could try all day, but he didn’t think he’d ever come up with the words to explain the inner-workings of Stéphane’s mind to someone as good and honest as Damen. Laurent himself had witnessed them first hand and even he still couldn’t fully understand the extent of his insanity. And he didn’t think he wanted to ever understand it.

“Laurent,” Damen said gently when Laurent’s silence stretched out too long. He had undoubtedly figured out the dark path Laurent’s thoughts had taken.

Laurent smiled to show him he was alright, and his smile stretched when he saw it reciprocated by Damen.

“Do you know what this means?” Damen’s joy seeped into his voice and made it ring.

“I’m going to Princeton?” Laurent answered, feeling his own smile get impossibly wider.

“You’re going to Princeton!” exclaimed Damen.

He took Laurent’s hand and used it to pull him up. Laurent stood up from his chair and was instantly pulled into a tight hug. A few months ago, Laurent would’ve instinctively started at the suddenness of the movement, but now, he felt himself immediately relaxing into Damen’s warm embrace.

Damen pulled away and looked at Laurent. “ _We’re_ going to Princeton,” he said, eyes shining.

“Together,” Laurent completed.

It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Overshadowed by the happiness of achieving his childhood dream and feeling like he was honoring his brother’s memory, was relief. Laurent had gotten into UPenn and although it was only an hour’s drive away from Princeton, he was very nervous about what the distance would mean for their relationship, and he knew Damen was too. They had decided they could make it work, but the prospect of separation had been like a threat looming over their heads for months. Now they didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“Together,” repeated Damen, leaning down.

His lips were almost brushing Laurent's when Laurent put a finger to them and said, "Wait. I have an idea."

Damen took Laurent's hand in his and kissed his fingertips. "I'm listening."

"Does our going to the same university mean we can write that book together?"

"Sure," said Damen, chuckling. "I think it should be set in Ancient Greece. What do you say?"

"I like France better."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," said Damen, leaning in again.

"I'm sure," repeated Laurent, closing the remaining distance between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this fic, I know I had so much fun writing it. This was the first multi chapter fic I've ever completed and this is making me Emotional™ lmao. Anyways thanks to everyone who stuck around and read this fic and powered through my beginner's writing. I'm hoping that'll improve in the future with practice xD  
> Anyways thank you guys and goodbye <3


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